


Chronos Historia

by In_Dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Hogwarts Founders Era, Magical History, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Romance, Sexual Content, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-01-30 03:05:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 97,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12644880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dreams/pseuds/In_Dreams
Summary: Hermione and Draco stumble upon a mysterious portal and find themselves hurtled back through time a thousand years. Forced to team up to find a way home, they quickly realize that much of the history they believed to be fact, wasn't true after all. A founders era, time travel Dramione.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Hello and welcome to a new story! This one has been in the works for a while now, and though it isn't complete, I have much of it mapped out. I hope you enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! If you like it, please drop a follow or a review! xoxo cait
> 
> Rated M for language, minor violence and sexual content.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

                                                         

 

Hermione Granger was in the library. It had most certainly come to characterize her existence at Hogwarts over the duration of her time as an eighth year student. Stationed at her favourite table, books, parchment and other assorted oddities spread across the surface, Hermione found herself completing a potions essay, dangerously close to falling behind in her work.

Which of course, by her standards, would mean she was no longer a full week ahead of her assigned deadlines.

She glanced to her beautiful, colour-coded homework and NEWT revision schedule, feeling a twinge of anxiety. She was due to have completed this essay the night before.

Now that she was well into January, the year nearly half gone, Hermione found it difficult to focus on much else other than her schoolwork.

While it was technically only her seventh year at Hogwarts, given she had missed her actual seventh year, Hermione had been classified an eighth year student, with the others from her year who had returned – there were around a dozen of them in total.

Many had chosen to pursue various forms of employment instead, including Harry and Ron, already deeply entrenched in their Auror training, having been granted an exception to the NEWT requirement.

But Hermione had never been particularly interested in becoming an Auror. The dreams she chose to venture after were with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The department was in dire need of some modernization in policy and Hermione felt she was the best for the job. Or would be, anyway, once she completed her school year.

Though she had always loved Hogwarts, she had felt oddly disengaged since returning in September. For one, it felt absolutely bizarre going to classes, eating her meals in the Great Hall  _without_  Harry and Ron nearby. She had a handful of other friends who had returned, of course, including Ginny and Neville, but it simply wasn't the same.

She had owled back and forth regularly with the pair of them at the start of the year, but the post had steadily begun to decline, until the few letters she did receive were brief and rushed.

That said, things between her and Ron had been awkward since they had decided to remain friends, following a brief and uncomfortable three weeks in which they had attempted to be more. It had turned out that the circumstances around being on the run had greatly exaggerated anything that may have existed between them. That flickering flame had been quickly doused once things had returned to normal.

For another, it was unsettling to remember the things which had occurred in those halls, only months before. The way Hogwarts had been under the control of Death Eaters; to recall that Albus Dumbledore had died on school grounds.

At least, returning to Hogwarts had been a distraction. Following the end of the war, Hermione had been advised by numerous mind healers that she could potentially cause permanent damage if she were to attempt to reverse the memory spell she had cast on her parents.

It seemed as if they were to remain in their alternate existence in Australia forever. It had been a bitter pill for Hermione to swallow, who had held the tiniest sliver of hope that she may have be able to bring them back home.

Following that revelation, staying in London had become a stifling and painful reminder.

She had opted not to stay at the Burrow, and while Harry had been excited for Hermione to stay at Grimmauld Place, after a short time, she felt as if she were constantly interrupting him and Ginny, who seemed to be there more often than not.

So while things at Hogwarts no longer felt as they always had, Hermione appreciated being there nonetheless.

* * *

 

At a quarter to ten, Hermione returned to her dormitory in Gryffindor Tower to drop off her bookbag. With a heavy heart, she made her way to the third corridor where she was to meet the other seventh and eighth year prefects for patrols.

Hermione had unfortunately been stuck with Malfoy back in September, who had surprisingly, in her opinion, returned to complete his schooling. It wasn't until two weeks later she had learned that returning to Hogwarts was a condition of his acquittal by the Ministry.

While Hermione had initially been of a mind to protest her being partnered with the blond Slytherin, she soon noticed he no longer seemed to hold a place within the hierarchy of the school. Treated as a traitor in Slytherin and a pariah by the rest of the school, Malfoy had barely spoken two words to Hermione for over a month.

While she certainly would have preferred a more friendly prefect partner, Hermione was relieved to find he was no longer interested in ridiculing her for her blood status and the company she chose to keep.

With a sobering thought, she realized she had probably been paired with him because no one else would have accepted him. She had instantly decided not to say anything to McGonagall and went along with the imposed silence on their nightly patrols.

For a brief few weeks early in the year, Hermione had attempted to make conversation, which he had steadily rebuked. It had become apparent that while he no longer chose to instigate arguments between them, he clearly had no interest in her friendship  _or_  her empathy.

Doing her best to put the past behind her, Hermione had come to accept it.

She quickened her pace, realizing she was running behind in arriving at their designated meeting point. Typically, Hermione was of a mind that the sooner they began patrols, the sooner she would be able to leave his presence.

"You're late," he said, haughty and aristocratic as always.

Indignant, Hermione looked to her watch. She was late by a minute. Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned to tell him so, but he had already left to begin their route. Shaking her head, she followed after the tall blond.

* * *

 

Their patrols had been unusually quiet. Hermione found herself grateful for the relative ease of the task, having had an arduous study period in the library. She hoped they might even be done quicker than they were accustomed to.

Malfoy trailed behind her, making it evident he had no interest in forced conversation.

Hermione paused, hearing an ominous sound coming from a dark classroom further ahead. She walked towards it, pushing the door ajar. A shiver passed the length of her spine.

"It's just the Bloody Baron," she informed Malfoy who shrugged noncommittally. She walked back towards him, falling into step once more as they continued their rounds. "I always thought he was creepy, but now that I know the circumstances around his death, it's so much worse."

Malfoy continued walking in silence, not sparing her so much as a glance.

"Do you know the story?" she questioned, turning to him. "About the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady?"

"No," Malfoy said sharply, "and I don't particularly care to."

Sighing, Hermione carried on in the uncomfortable tension that had come to characterize their time spent together. As if after four months of working together as prefects he still had no interest in breaking the silence. Hermione really did prefer this to the intentional goading and antagonistic name-calling, but still. At least no one could say  _she_  wasn't trying.

"Did you hear that?" Hermione asked, freezing on the spot. She was certain she had heard a buzzing sound. "Coming from the courtyard, I think."

"And what was I supposed to have heard, Granger?" Malfoy drawled, arching a pale brow.

Hermione held up a finger to silence him as she inched toward the sound, the snowy grass crunching softly under her feet. Malfoy rolled his eyes but followed along obligingly.

"Yeah," he said after a moment, his expression that of mild surprise. "A buzzing, yeah?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered. She came to a narrow alley running away from the courtyard, lined with cobbled stone. "It's coming from this passageway."

"I've never seen that passage before," Malfoy said suspiciously. "I'm not going into it but you can do as you please."

"Oh come on, Malfoy," Hermione said, disgruntled. She grabbed his arm, ignoring the slight recoil. "Reach deep down for your inner Gryffindor, will you?"

"No, thank you," he said delicately, withdrawing his arm from her grip with distaste. "Unexplained corridors which appear out of nowhere do not bode well. But go on, then."

"I will," she huffed, folding her arms across herself as she carefully crept forward into the entrance of the passage, lighting her wand with a muttered ' _lumos'_. She felt a shiver creep down her spine as the strange sound grew louder. She glanced back at Malfoy who was looking at her with extreme annoyance. Finally he sighed, exaggeratedly, and followed along.

"If I die tonight, you're responsible, Granger," he said waspishly.

"You're overreacting," she hissed, shaking her head. "But if you die, chances are good I'll die too, so I won't be bothered over it, will I?"

Malfoy did not grace her with a response. He merely sighed again and trailed after her. The corridor closed in tighter as they walked, the walls increasingly overgrown with vines and lush greenery, so thick they blocked the light of the moon. The air became damp and heavy; the buzzing sound growing ever louder still. Hermione didn't say so out loud, but the sound had begun to feel as much a part of her as it was around her. As if she felt it within herself as she heard it.

"It's a dead end," Hermione said with surprise as she came to the end of the long corridor. "I can't say I was expecting that."

"Granger," Malfoy said quietly and she turned to where he had stopped a few paces back. She noted he was standing in front of a heavy stone door that looked so ancient it had almost blended into the stone walls around it, vines covering the vast majority.

"Open it," she whispered, her mouth feeling suddenly dry.

"That's a hard  _fuck no_ , Granger," he responded sharply. "I'm quite certain that's the sound of a chimera."

"A chimera?" she asked, alarmed. "Why would there be a chimera in Hogwarts? Where did you hear that?"

He shrugged, eyeing the wall darkly. "For the same reason there was a basilisk I would suppose? Gryffindor and Slytherin wanted a pet together? Part lion, part snake." He snickered. "And it's widely known the sound a chimera makes."

"Part  _goat,_ " Hermione added but she had backed away from the door and found herself pressed against the cold wall on the opposite side of the passage, her heart racing. "And a chimera does  _not_  make a buzzing sound."

"Of course it doesn't," Malfoy said, smirking. "But I got you all the same."

"You're incorrigible," Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes. She supposed she should have been grateful he was in a talkative mood, but she was particularly fatigued. She found herself wishing they had skipped this particular area of the castle. She walked towards the door again, inspecting the old, rusted latch. "Open it, then, if it isn't a chimera."

"I'm not opening it," he stated flatly.

"The sooner we find out what this is, the sooner we can finish our patrols, Malfoy," Hermione said, crossing her arms.

"You  _do_ make sense," he stated as if surprised. "Fine. Just so we can leave this damn corridor. That sound is annoying as hell."

He drew his wand to unlock the door and Hermione's smug expression quickly fell from her face. The moment the door came open the buzzing intensified tenfold – coupled with ferocious gale-force winds and a stunning, bright light.

"What the fuck, Granger!" Malfoy shouted over the wind, clutching his wand with white knuckles.

"I don't know!" she returned, eyes wide with terror as the light expanded and surrounded them, pulsing. For the first time in her life, she instantly found herself wishing she had listened to Malfoy. She reached into her pocket, grasping her own wand defensively.

They watched, helplessly, as the light came in from all sides, carrying the buzzing with it, and encapsulated them both so that all they could do was wait…

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, everything ceased. Hermione blinked rapidly to adjust her vision to the sudden darkness as her ears grew accustomed to the silence once more and the wind dropped to nothing.

"Malfoy," Hermione whispered, frozen to the spot.

"I'm here, let's just get out of here," his voice came from the darkness, sounding uncertain. Hermione nodded, hastily backtracking down the passageway as he followed. "What in the name of Merlin's balls was  _that_?"

"I have no idea," Hermione said, her voice sounding oddly small. She felt horribly shaken, each step back toward the courtyard uncertain.

"That is the very last time I am  _ever_  doing something you ask," he informed her, the irritation returning to his voice.

"Malfoy," she hissed, stopping all of a sudden as the greenery began to thin out once more. Behind her she heard him come to a stop as well, his breath hitching. "Why is the sun out?"

"I've no idea," he said, "it's half ten at night."

"Is it?" she asked, unsure. "It  _was_." She crept carefully to the edge of the courtyard, finding it empty as it had been. Something felt wrong as she looked around.

"Has the courtyard always been so... lush?" Malfoy asked from behind her and it clicked what felt wrong.

"No," she said, shaking her head. She paled significantly. "And there were a few skiffs of snow here. Let's just get back inside… or something."

They made their way through the courtyard and back into the castle, stopping abruptly to take stock of the situation.

"Why is Hogwarts different?" Malfoy asked slowly, eyebrows raised with interest. "But… the same."

"We're definitely still  _at_  Hogwarts, right?" Hermione asked, not wanting to discount anything. That room had been one of the most bizarre things she had ever experienced, and that was saying something.

"Seems so," Malfoy responded. "But yet, it's somehow daytime."

"Something feels wrong," Hermione agreed, looking around. She ran a hand along the rough stone of the interior wall. She took a few steps, walking toward the empty classroom where she took arithmancy. Her eyes widened in shock as she looked inside. "Malfoy, the furniture - the room's different. Everything feels… new."

"What the fuck," he hissed as he looked into the room. Then he froze, perking up. He grabbed Hermione's arm, shoving her ahead of him into the classroom. "Someone's coming."

"Malfoy, we're prefects doing patrol. We're  _supposed_  to be stopping people," Hermione said, realizing even as she said it that if it wasn't after hours, then that wouldn't be the case.

"We aren't sure of our circumstances anymore," he said quietly. He left the door ajar, peering carefully through the crack. "Four people. Dressed quite… elaborately."

"What are they saying?" she said, looking absently around the room when a thought struck her. She reached into a deep interior pocket of her robes, realizing with a pleasant jolt she had yet to clear her pockets of the items they had raided from a pair of fifth years the night before. Silently she handed Malfoy the extendable ears they had confiscated. His eyes widened as he dropped the end beyond the threshold of the doorway, handing her one end as he inserted the other into his own ear.

"Another year at Hogwarts," a woman's voice was saying wistfully.

"Yes, it's just wonderful! Another new crop of students to sort," a jovial male voice boomed.

Hermione met Malfoy's confused expression with her own as they both listened in. She didn't recognize either of the voices as professors - and beyond that, it was January. The new students had been sorted months ago.

"Perhaps this year's group will have brains in their skulls," another male voice drawled, sounding distinctly displeased.

"They needn't arrive full of knowledge, Sal, that's why we teach them," a fourth voice broke in, a woman's voice with a thick Scottish brogue.

"Sal," Hermione whispered, eyes wide. Instinctively she reached a hand to grasp Malfoy's arm and he merely stared back, his brow furrowed in alarm.

"Salazar," he returned. He swallowed heavily. "Granger… I don't think the question is ' _where_  are we'."

Hermione nodded, her racing heart lodged in her throat.

"It's  _when_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks everyone for all the wonderful feedback on the first chapter! I believe I was able to respond to everyone who left feedback, and it's greatly appreciated. I really hope you all continue to enjoy and I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Thanks to the most lovely LaBelladone x and LittleMissEighty-Sixed for their assistance and their thoughts which helped breathe life into this fic x
> 
> Just a quick note on language and dialogue because otherwise someone might mention it: while this is set in the late tenth century, I will NOT be writing the dialogue of the students and professors from this time in the old dialects of the region because 1. I don't know them and it would require significant research, and 2. I can't imagine anyone wants to read my struggles with an old dialect. That said, I will do my best to keep their dialogue from being too modern.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Once the four people in the corridor had moved on, Malfoy walked away from the door, coiling the extendable ears thoughtfully. He took a seat, cross-legged on a nearby table and gently set the coil beside himself. Hermione followed, pacing the room as her mind flew into overdrive. 

She opened her mouth to speak but Malfoy raised a hand to silence her. 

“Granger, don’t speak right now,” he murmured, “please. You’ll give me a migraine.” He rested his elbows on his knees, massaging his temples with his fingertips. 

Hermione huffed and sat upon the next table, legs swinging from the edge. 

After several minutes Malfoy looked up, giving Hermione a dirty look. 

“I hope you realize this is your fault,” he said, without any real malice. She glared in return. “Just so we’re clear on that. But for the time being, I’m going to attempt to set aside my irritation with you so we can sort this out.” 

He paused again, looking around the room and Hermione followed suit, knowing better than to rise to an argument for the moment. No matter what else, it seemed they had landed in a situation together and that certainly didn’t bode well. While the layout of the room was identical, the tables and chairs were somehow different, the hangings on the walls were unfamiliar and the books on the shelves depicted different subject matter.

“Here’s what we know:” Malfoy began again, “we went down some shady corridor neither of us had seen before and opened a strange door, without inspecting it or doing any of the proper diligence like a pair of bull-headed Gryffindors.” 

Hermione opened her mouth to retort but he carried on, effectively cutting her off. 

“There seems to have been some sort of time shift; how extensively, we aren’t sure.” He rubbed his temples again and Hermione, despite herself, found it fascinating to see a glimpse of Malfoy’s logical Slytherin side. “Where it was night, it is now day. It was the fifteenth day of January, but now – it may or may not be late August or the first day of September. Furthermore,” he glanced to Hermione, meeting her eyes. “We may not even be in 1999 any longer.  _ If  _ those were the founders, it could be, what, a thousand years ago?”

“Hogwarts was founded in 993,” Hermione supplied. 

“Fuck,” Malfoy cursed. “We need a find out whether a time shift has actually occurred and if so, what year we’ve landed in. Then we need to re-trace our steps and determine the best way to return.” 

“I think simply looking at our surroundings would suggest a time shift has indeed occurred,” Hermione stated. She felt herself growing warm at his words, her heart racing, her skin flushed. How would they be able to return? But taking his cue, she forced herself to keep from panicking; it would do them no good.

“Fair point,” he stated, inspecting the room closer. “But that could be indicative of ten years ago or a hundred. For all we know, there could have been another professor named Sal.” 

“I really wish I had my copy of  _ Hogwarts: A History _ ,” Hermione said wistfully. Malfoy gave her an incredulous look and snorted ungracefully. 

“Yes, Granger, Merlin, how dare you not bring your entire bookbag on prefect patrols with you,” he said, shaking his head. Then he looked back up at her. “What else did we seize from those fifth years last night? Anything of use?” 

She reached into the interior pocket of her robes, turning out its contents. 

“A few nosebleed nougats, a dungbomb, and a fanged frisbee,” she commented. 

“So that would be a no,” Malfoy responded haughtily. “Let’s take a look around and see if anything can tell us the year? Then I think our most obvious step would be to attempt to find the door again. It might simply send us back in the same way.” 

“Then why do we need to know the year?” Hermione asked, even as she stood and walked to the professor’s desk. 

“We don’t,” he replied simply, “but I’m curious.” 

Hermione shrugged; admittedly she was quite curious as well. Idly the thought passed her mind that Malfoy was scholarly enough that he would share in her intrigue with the situation; if this had happened with Harry and Ron, they likely wouldn’t care. Malfoy started to sift through the books on the shelf while Hermione picked up a stack of letters. 

“The published years of these texts are ancient,” Malfoy said, a hint of fascination in his otherwise dismayed tone. He ran a hand through his pale blond hair. 

“The voice of these letters feels extremely old-fashioned as well,” Hermione stated as she browsed them, “but no dates.” 

She skimmed the next letter, feeling an obtrusive lump rise in her throat. 

“This one references Helga and Godric,” Hermione said. Malfoy glanced over, meeting her eyes, his lips pursed. 

“Let me read it,” he said, reaching out a hand. His eyes widened as he scanned the letter then he exhaled heavily. “Granger, here, at the bottom.” 

Hermione took the letter back from him, squinting to read the small text. It said  _ I will arrive at Hogwarts on the last day of August, 999. _

“Well, shite,” Hermione whispered, cursing despite her usual inclination not to. “We’ve gone back a millennium, Malfoy.” 

“This is so fucked up,” he said, then paused, looking apprehensive. “We should at least meet them.”

“We can’t,” Hermione said instantly. “Messing with time is extremely dangerous. We’re lucky no one’s seen us yet. I very nearly learned the hard way in third year - and that was only traveling back a few hours. I can’t imagine the repercussions we could make on the future by existing a thousand years in the past.” 

“Fine,” Malfoy said, raising an eyebrow but he refrained from asking any questions. “Then we ought to go back to the courtyard and see if we can find that passage again.” 

“Somehow I don’t think it will be that simple,” Hermione said, with a grimace, “but let’s try.” 

Malfoy looked through the crack of the doorway, reaching into a pocket for his wand. He withdrew in surprise, clutching both his wand and a small square of parchment. 

“ _ Welcome, traveler, _ ” he read, eyes wide, “ _ please be aware your experiences using the portal will be true enough but your existence will not cause undue circumstances to arise in the time from whence you came. Do enjoy your travels. R.R. _ ”

“R.R.  _ Rowena Ravenclaw _ ,” Hermione breathed, her heart racing. “It was a portal! How on earth did we just so happen to come across a time portal?” 

“With abysmal luck,” Malfoy stated miserably. “Well, this solves our problem of creating a ripple effect. But the question begs asking:  _ when _ exactly did she create this portal because, if it wasn’t prior to the year 999, we won’t be finding it to return. I’m certain that passage was not always there, otherwise wouldn’t students stumble upon it regularly?” 

“You would think so. Ravenclaw designed Hogwarts’ floor plan prior to the opening of the castle, including all of the eclectic features we know of, like the moving staircases,” Hermione said, straining to remember the details.”So it may have been built in at the time.” 

“I’m going to check,” he said, the urgency in his voice rising, pocketing the slip of parchment and checking the corridor once more. Then he carefully inched the door open, slipping into the hallway and Hermione followed him across the way into the courtyard, chewing her lip nervously. 

They arrived at the point in the courtyard where the stone passage had emerged and found only a blank wall. They each began attempting spells – unlocking, revealing, opening – but to no avail. 

“Malfoy,” Hermione said softly and he glanced to her, looking both irritated and disconcerted. “It was almost as if the passage and the portal presented themselves to us, do you think?”

“I don’t know, Granger,” he said and he sounded fatigued. “Why would it have done that?” 

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, worrying her lip again, “but it just… doesn’t feel like an accident. Like we merely stumbled upon it. More like we were brought here for a reason.” 

“Well, I can’t think of any bloody reason why you and I needed to travel back in time a thousand years,” he snapped and Hermione could think of no answer because she didn’t have any ideas, either. 

She leaned back against the wall, attempting to fight the rush of anxiety that she felt approaching. They couldn’t possibly be stuck here – could they?”

“There has to be a way to figure it out,” she said, whether to herself or to Malfoy, she wasn’t certain. “Maybe we could ask Ravenclaw?”

“If she hasn’t built it yet Granger, she won’t be able to help us,” he said blandly. He looked up to the sky. “It looks to be about mid-afternoon. If it truly is the first of September, the new students will be arriving soon. The timing would make this the seventh year of Hogwarts, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, attempting to follow his line of reasoning.

“If we’re going to be stuck here, attempting to figure this out or,  _ possibly _ , the portal has re-located or hidden itself, provided it has been built already,” he paused at the thought. “I mean, we are students already so…” 

“So we should attend the feast,” Hermione closed with a whisper. “We can’t barge in and announce we’ve come from a thousand years in the future. We will have to… I don’t know, play along or something.” 

“I agree,” Malfoy permitted. “A thousand years ago, things were much different in the wizarding world; Muggles were extremely superstitious of us, convinced we were out there though we hid relatively well. Anything suspicious could cause panic or raise alarm.”

“Remove your tie,” Hermione said suddenly, just realizing they were still clothed in Gryffindor and Slytherin colours. “They won’t know us, so it won’t make sense for us to act as if we’re already students here. Besides, neckties haven’t been invented yet.”

“Granger, I hate the situation you’ve landed us in,” Malfoy sighed, as he loosened the windsor knot at his throat, “and you’re one of the last people on  _ earth _ I would have chosen to travel back a thousand years and spend extensive time with.” He rolled the tie, shrunk it with his wand and pocketed it. “But thank Merlin you’ve at least got a brain.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” she quipped, stowing her own shrunken tie, a smile playing at her lips. “It’s likewise, Malfoy. Look at it this way - at least you’ll get to meet the founders.”

=

After spending the rest of the afternoon wandering the empty halls of Hogwarts, theorizing – and bickering – the two made their way up to one of the taller towers facing the grounds to await the arrival of the students. 

Hermione gasped at the first sign of movement on the horizon, glancing to Malfoy. Squinting closer, she realized a large group of students were approaching the castle on broomsticks, their trunks and other possessions casting a cumbersome silhouette. 

Others came in upon thestrals and hippogriffs, enchanted carriages and even riding horses, while still more walked in from Hogsmeade, having clearly been Apparated to the village. Malfoy gazed out the windows of the tower, his expression unreadable. 

“Trains weren’t invented until the early nineteenth century,” Hermione said aloud, whether to herself or him she wasn’t sure, but he looked over at her anyway. “And given that the International Statute of Secrecy wasn’t imposed until 1692, restrictions on travel wouldn’t have been so severe.” 

“I suppose not,” Malfoy permitted though his lips were pursed. 

Hermione didn’t think she had ever spent so much time with Malfoy before, and most certainly not of her own volition. While she could tell he was making an honest effort to keep things reasonable between them, the air still felt awkward and tense. She was finding many of his mannerisms to be unreadable. 

Beyond that, when he wasn’t being an insufferable, bigoted arse, Hermione wasn’t exactly sure she knew anything about him. But the silence between her and the blond Slytherin had been largely prevalent for the entirety of their eighth year so far. 

It seemed as if Malfoy had begun to retract into himself, brooding, while they sat quietly in the tower. As if his ability to be social and contend with their circumstances had reached the end of its tether. Their silent watch also reminded Hermione that it had been late at night when they were transported to this time at midday, and now that the immediate adrenaline of the situation had worn off, she realized how exhausted she felt. 

As the last of the students trickled onto the Hogwarts grounds, Hermione and Malfoy shared a silent glance and made their way down from the tower towards the gathering commotion of the feast. 

=

Hermione froze upon the threshold of the Great Hall as her breath caught in her throat, her heart racing and gaze transfixed. Behind her Malfoy cursed as he nearly collided with her but he too stopped as he stepped alongside her to pass. When Hermione glanced at him his expression was neutral but his wide eyes betrayed him. 

The four Hogwarts founders sat, majestic and spectacular, side by side at the head table. To Hermione, each one looked more regal than the last. A handful of other professors sat to either side. 

Helga Hufflepuff, in robes of yellow and black, her auburn hair in an intricate twist, was smiling proudly at the assembled students, a twinkle in her eye that reminded Hermione of Dumbledore. Beside her sat Rowena Ravenclaw, her long black hair sleek upon her shoulders, in robes of blue and bronze. There was something austere yet wise about the way she gazed upon the students though her beauty was undeniable. With a start, Hermione realized she wore her famed diadem. 

To Ravenclaw’s left sat Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin, chuckling at a joke shared between them, in their elaborate robes of crimson and gold, and green and silver, respectively. Gryffindor was grinning broadly as Slytherin threw his head back in a deep, unreserved laugh. Gryffindor had an infectious smile; Hermione found the corners of her lips turning upwards as she looked at the founder of her house. 

Glancing to Malfoy, she realized he was staring at Salazar Slytherin with a sort of starstruck idolatry.  Hermione’s first impression of her least favourite founder was that of a man utterly carefree and joyful. The unexpected thought rattled her soul; she had always assumed him to be a man solely spiteful and unpleasant. 

Malfoy was the first to snap out of the trance they had both fallen into and Hermione followed his lead as he inconspicuously joined the line of first years waiting to be sorted. Attempting to mimic his casual nonchalance, Hermione assessed the situation. 

With a shock, she realized the hat perched atop Gryffindor’s head had yet to be charmed into the Sorting Hat. After some craning, to which she received a dirty look from Malfoy, Hermione settled in to wait and see what sort of procedure they were using to sort the students as the line began to move. It was only once they got closer she was able to better see and hear how the students were sorted.

There lay upon the head table, four small crests, one for each house. Through a rapid fire series of questions, some which made sense and some of which seemed completely irrelevant, the four crests would move towards or away from the student. Hermione also suspected the process to be influenced by Legilimency. Eventually, one of the crests would move definitively toward the student and that would be the determined house. 

Hermione privately thought it to be quite a long, tedious event and decided the creation of the Sorting Hat was a better idea. 

Once the last first year student had been sorted, the founders turned appraising looks to Hermione and Malfoy. A tense hush fell over the hall which made Hermione wish she could sink into the floor. 

“You aren’t first years,” Gryffindor stated uncertainly, “... are you?” 

“Seventh,” Hermione found herself saying, her eyes wide. “We’ve only just transferred.” 

“We weren’t aware of any transfer students,” Slytherin stated, his brow furrowed. He glanced down the table at the other founders and they all shook their heads in agreement. “How have you come to be here at Hogwarts?” 

“Our apologies, sir,” Hermione said, tilting her head slightly. “Perhaps our owls to request a transfer were distracted and they did not arrive. We have only just re-located to this part of the world.” 

“An unfortunately common event, these days, is it not?” Hufflepuff said, nodding. Hermione simply stared at her. 

“We’ve transferred from Durmstrang,” Malfoy broke in. At Hermione’s subtle shake of the head, he corrected, “Beauxbatons.” She shot him a look. “Ilvermorny?” he tried feebly. 

“Our families move around a lot, due to the nature of their curse-breaking work together, you see,” Hermione cut in, recognizing the suspicious looks all around them. “We have been to several academies; the past two years we spent at Castelobruxo. But our families have recently moved from Brazil to England and – the renown of Hogwarts has spread, of course – now we have come here.” 

Malfoy gave her a look that suggested he was unimpressed and she returned with a glare of her own. 

“I have visited Castelobruxo myself,” Rowena Ravenclaw stated after a long pause that fell heavy across the entire hall. Hermione sagged with relief. “How did you find it?” 

“The emphasis on magizoology was scintillating,” Hermione said softly. 

“Yes,” Malfoy contributed. 

“And is this,” Slytherin began with a flippant wave of one hand in their direction, “the attire you wore at Castelobruxo?”

“It is,” Malfoy stated and Hermione nodded along. Indeed, the uniforms of the students were similar to their robes, but different. “We didn’t know our uniforms would not be acceptable here.” 

“Very well,” Ravenclaw said, cocking an eyebrow. “I suppose you’ll need to be sorted.” 

Hermione noticed Malfoy gazing at Salazar Slytherin again. She could tell he suspected he would be sorted into Slytherin once more. Hermione glanced to the imposing figure of Godric Gryffindor and found herself to be intimidated. Rowena Ravenclaw was gazing at her keenly while Helga Hufflepuff was smiling widely at them both. 

It all felt extremely surreal.

Slytherin beckoned Malfoy to step forward and he did, a smirk slipping onto his lips. 

“Your name,” Hufflepuff stated.   
  
“Draco Malfoy,” he answered with a glance at Slytherin, very clearly expecting the founder to be impressed. But the man simply stared at him. 

“Blood status?” Slytherin asked. 

“Pureblood,” Malfoy replied, his tone tinged now with uncertainty. 

“I am not familiar with the surname,” Slytherin said with a frown. Despite herself, Hermione fought a smile at the scandalized look on Malfoy’s face. “How far back can you trace your lineage?” 

“Mid-seventh century,” he replied haughtily. The crests inched forward as one, Slytherin’s continuing slightly further than the rest. Which made sense, Hermione thought, given that Slytherin was the one most concerned with blood status. She heard him mutter, “...suppose the house is still in France at this time.”

“How do you prefer your eggs?” Gryffindor asked, his expression entirely serious.  

“I… what?” he asked, blinking. “Poached, I guess.” 

“You guess? Ravenclaw asked sharply, not familiar with the phrase. 

“Poached,” Malfoy affirmed. The Hufflepuff crest crept closer and Hermione saw him eye it with disdain. She suspected the movement of the crests was indicative of how that particular founder took a given answer, and was simply correspondent to their thoughts. 

“Very well,” Ravenclaw said, “your favourite magical creature?” 

They continued in this manner for nearly ten minutes, Hermione surmised, before the founders sat back, satisfied and the crests danced back and forth on the table. Finally, with an audible exhale of relief from Malfoy, the green and silver crest of Slytherin moved forward with confidence. 

Malfoy walked toward the Slytherin table and took a seat next to a tall, dark-haired boy who looked to be about the same age.

“Come forward, please,” Ravenclaw said, her gaze now turning to Hermione. Steeling her nerves, Hermione did as she was asked. “Your name?”

“Hermione Granger,” she responded timidly. Something about the intense gazes of the four founders made her extraordinarily nervous. 

“Blood status?” Gryffindor asked and while Hermione was of a mind to be affronted, it seemed as if this was simply a standard question asked of every student. 

“Half-blood,” she murmured, with a subtle glance to Malfoy who smirked at her, offering an almost imperceptible nod. She wasn’t entirely certain how Muggle-borns would be treated in this time, and there was a certain appeal to being known by something other than her Muggle heritage. 

“How do you take your tea?” Slytherin asked politely, as if he were offering her a cup. 

“A splash of milk, one sugar,” Hermione answered in the same manner. She sincerely wondered how this could possibly determine her character but the crests shifted in response even so. 

“If a troll were to attack, would you run or fight?” Gryffindor asked and Hermione stared at him, trying to fight a smile at the memories of her own run-in with a troll in her first year. 

“Well,” she began, pondering the question. “That would depend on quite a few additional circumstances including the size of the troll, the location, whether I was alone or with others… is the troll armed? Am  _ I _ armed? I’m afraid I simply don’t have enough information.” 

In her peripheral vision she saw Malfoy roll his eyes. But Ravenclaw was eyeing her with something akin to amusement. 

“A very good answer,” the woman murmured and the blue and bronze badge jumped forward, as did the green and silver one, presumably due to the self-preserving sentiment. Clearly, Gryffindor had been hoping her response would be something braver.

For the first time, the thought that she might not be in Gryffindor house in this particular time and reality truly hit her. The alternatives made her extremely nervous. She had never identified with Hufflepuff house, and the thought of being in Slytherin made her sick. Beyond that, she didn’t think Salazar Slytherin would take her, half-blood that she had claimed to be.

So when the crests ceased their dance – a competition of sorts – signifying the end of her questions some time later, Hermione’s heart sunk to see the blue and bronze crest ahead of the rest. She looked to Rowena Ravenclaw, who permitted a small smile and Hermione gave her what she hoped was a sincere smile in return. She had almost been sorted into Ravenclaw originally, she supposed; maybe it would be an interesting experience.

She walked to the Ravenclaw table, which felt foreign and unfamiliar and sat beside a girl with long, dark brown hair. 

“Hello,” the girl said, turning to Hermione with a tight smile. 

“Hi, I’m Hermione Granger,” she said, offering the girl her brightest attempt at a smile. 

“I’m Helena,” the girl said, “Helena Ravenclaw.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened as the pieces clicked together, bits of a story Harry had told her. She glanced anxiously to Malfoy but he was deep in conversation with the dark-haired boy he had sat beside and a pretty black-haired girl. 

“Helena Ravenclaw,” Hermione repeated, memories of a beautiful but unhappy ghost in grey, drifting past through many years of school, tumbling through her mind. Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, “it’s wonderful to meet you.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read or review this fic, and to everyone who is following. It is all so appreciated, and I love hearing your thoughts on the story :)
> 
> Over the coming days I will be posting some of my other stories on this site which are currently only available on FFN.
> 
> Thanks to LaBelladone x for her assistance.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Hermione awoke from a restless sleep the next morning with a start, temporarily forgetting her surroundings. She felt as if she had spent most of the night laying awake. She sat up in bed and looked around before remembering everything that had occurred the day before. Her mind still spun at the idea that she had been transported a thousand years into the past for seemingly no reason. 

The night before she had been so exhausted from the trials of the day she had fallen asleep almost instantly. She realized now her dorm room in Ravenclaw Tower was very similar to the one she’d had in Gryffindor Tower with two significant exceptions: the colour scheme was blue and bronze rather than crimson and gold, and of course, her dorm mates were different. 

Aside from Helena Ravenclaw, there were two other girls in Ravenclaw seventh year, neither of whom Hermione had had a chance to meet the night before. All three remained fast asleep. 

Hermione rose and realized a new, neatly folded uniform had been placed atop her trunk at the foot of her bed sometime in the night. She silently dressed then made her way down the staircase into the common room. 

Where the Gryffindor common room was luxurious and comforting, the Ravenclaw common room was light and airy. The room was round with large, arched windows which provided a spectacular view of the grounds; from her vantage point Hermione could easily see the Forbidden Forest and the Quidditch pitch. 

The room was decorated with elaborate banners and tapestries in shades of blue and bronze, and tall bookshelves conformed to the round walls. 

Given it was still too early to venture to the Great Hall for breakfast, Hermione selected a book from one of the shelves and sunk into a soft armchair by the fire. 

She found it difficult to focus entirely, however, and was relieved when the first early-bird students began to trickle down into the common room and out of Ravenclaw Tower. 

Stowing the book back into its place, Hermione made her way to the Great Hall to begin her first day in this new reality. 

**=**

“Granger!” Malfoy hissed from the doorway of the Great Hall as Hermione walked toward the exit after she had finished her breakfast. 

He looked irritable; his eyes bloodshot and his hair was disheveled. Hermione folded her arms defensively, out of instinct. He dragged her bodily out of the main flow of student traffic, effectively forcing her to walk down the corridor with him. 

“I didn’t sleep last night,” he prefaced, “hardly a wink.”

“Neither did I,” Hermione permitted, gnashing her lower lip. “It felt strange being in a different house. Let alone a different millennium.” 

While Ravenclaw Tower was certainly nice in its own way, Hermione had decided she wasn’t all that fond of blue. But she supposed, she had no choice but to give it a shot.

“Right,” he grimaced. “And I’ve decided, that while I’m still annoyed with you –” Hermione rolled her eyes “– it will make the most sense if we try to work together to figure a way out of this mess. So for the time being, I propose we be…  _ civil _ to one another.” 

“Civil is fine with me, Malfoy,” Hermione said dismissively. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been attempting to be civil all year.” 

“Sure,” he said, waving a hand. “Anyways, did you happen to see who I sat beside at the feast last night?”

“I wasn’t paying much attention,” Hermione said, “I had rather a lot to deal with on my end.” 

“I thought he seemed familiar at first, but I couldn’t imagine why. And then I realized,” Malfoy paused, glancing to her conspiratorially. “It’s the Bloody Baron.” 

Hermione felt the colour drain from her face and turned to him. “That makes sense, given that I sat with Helena Ravenclaw.” 

“Who?” Malfoy asked, looking confused. 

“Ravenclaw’s daughter – she’s the Grey Lady at Hogwarts as we know it, the ghost of Ravenclaw house. I tried telling you the story just before we found the portal,” Hermione reminded him. “I mean, presumably it’s rational that they both attended Hogwarts sometime near its conception, but… that is so creepy.”

“Extremely. So get this,” Malfoy stated, running a hand through his pale hair. “The Bloody Baron wasn’t a Baron at all. His  _ name _ is Waldo Baron! It’s all absolutely bizarre.” 

Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully, briefly considering what he had shared. 

“That makes quite a lot of sense. I’ve always found the Bloody Baron to be quite anachronistic, given that feudalism wasn’t introduced in Britain until 1066 after William the Conqueror became king,” she paused, looking thoughtful. “I’ve also often wondered at his peerage given that  _ Baron _ was a Muggle title and the Bloody Baron surely must not have been accepted into Slytherin if he had Muggle heritage, would he? Especially by Salazar himself?”

Malfoy simply stared, one delicate eyebrow raised. 

“These are things you’ve  _ often wondered _ about?” he asked, bewildered.  

“Yes,” Hermione continued with her musing, a smile playing about her lips. “It’s very reminiscent of the _Half-Blood Prince_ , isn’t it? Since Snape wasn’t technically a prince in _title_ but only in name.” 

“I’ve no idea what you’re on about,” he commented shortly. 

Hermione startled, as if just noticing her present company. 

“Right, of course,” she said, flustered. 

“Also, could you not be a great fucking swot for two minutes?” Malfoy queried politely. At Hermione’s heated glare he permitted a smirk. “I just find it strange to see him without the chains. And the  _ groaning _ .” 

“It’s certainly an incredibly surreal experience, being at Hogwarts during this time. We are quite literally  _ living  _ out history. For as much of a mess as this is, don’t you find it fascinating?” she asked, glancing sidelong at him as they walked. 

“Absolutely,” he admitted, meeting her gaze. “I never cared for History of Magic, but I was always made to learn about the major historical events of the wizarding world growing up. The founding of Hogwarts was very significant.” 

“Of course,” Hermione agreed. She hesitated. “Malfoy, I just can’t shake this feeling that we’ve been brought here for a reason, and that this specific time period isn’t arbitrary.” 

He shrugged, glancing around at the other students paying them no heed. Hermione understood – she found it strange to be walking the corridors of Hogwarts with her present company. If they were back in their own time and such a thing were to occur, there would be mayhem. 

“Maybe you’re right, Granger, but until we can learn more about what’s happened, we won’t know,” he said simply. “For the time being, our best option is to go along with it. Attend our classes, participate in whatever activities students did at this time. Hopefully the library is substantial enough that we can do some research into it in our spare time.” 

“I should hope so,” Hermione said with a heavy mind. She had been relying on being able to research their predicament in the library and hadn’t considered the fact that the library now would likely be far more scarce for resources. “Malfoy, how do you suppose this works? Do you think we’ve mysteriously vanished back home?”

“Hard to say,” he shrugged. “I’ve never traveled time before.”

“With a time turner, the  _ traveling _ version of you exists alongside the original version. Which is why it’s so important to avoid being seen,” Hermione explained, deep in thought. “But…”

“But we’ve already learned this is different,” he replied. “If time  _ is _ continuing on back… home, I suppose, hopefully we can sort this out before NEWTs, as I don’t fancy repeating  _ another _ year.” 

“Neither.” Hermione grimaced. “At least the timetables are quite similar to what we’re used to. Charms, Transfiguration, Potions. Ugh, Divination is required. Though it looks like Magizoology is required rather than Care of Magical Creatures. And look at this,” she gestured to her timetable, “taught by H. Hufflepuff! I never knew she was a Magizoologist.”

“I’ve got Potions with Salazar Slytherin,” Malfoy said and Hermione thought she almost caught a hint of apprehension mixed with the awe in his tone. He drew his own timetable, glancing over it. “Charms with R. Ravenclaw, and Defence with G. Gryffindor.” He shook his head in disbelief. 

“We have Charms and Defence together,” Hermione commented, looking over his timetable. “The only problem is, we obviously have no books.” 

“We also don’t have quills or parchment or  _ any _ supplies, Granger,” he said. “Which brings me to my next point. Obtaining some.” 

“I don’t even have any money,” Hermione said, biting her lip. “I thought we might have to ask the professors if they have extra texts?” 

“Better idea,” he clipped, “one in which we don’t draw infinite attention to ourselves.” 

He glanced around and directed Hermione into a lesser used hallway. 

“I had a handful of Galleons in a pocket, which I didn’t even realize at first.” Hermione gaped, eyes wide. “Do you even realize how much a Galleon is worth in this time? I casually let slip I hadn’t the booklist to get my supplies and a boy named Selkirk almost  _ instantly  _ handed his over for a few Galleons.” 

“Are you serious?” Hermione exclaimed. “What will he do?” 

“ _ Course _ I’m serious. It was mutually beneficial. I imagine he’ll owl home for more,” Malfoy said with a shrug. “Or maybe he just doesn’t care. But he’s now significantly wealthier either way.” 

“I’ll have to figure something else out,” Hermione said, chewing her lower lip. “I don’t suppose you can duplicate purchasable items, even in this time.”

“No,” he shook his head, “already tried. But here’s the thing – Selkirk had a friend.” 

Hermione watched, incredulous as he drew a shrunken cloth satchel from his pocket and handed it to her. 

“Should be everything you need,” he said. At the baffled look Hermione gave him, he added, “don’t hurt yourself, Granger. Like I said, we’re trying  _ not _ to draw an excess of attention to ourselves. We already did plenty of that last night.” 

“Thank you,” she said, the words falling clumsily from her mouth, feeling foreign in his presence. 

“Don’t mention it,” he said with a grimace. “Really.  _ Don’t _ .” 

“Can’t be seen helping a Ravenclaw,” Hermione said, a faint smile playing about her lips. 

“You’re still an obnoxious Gryffindor to me,” he replied but there was humour in his eyes. “Although, apparently now you’re a half-blood.” 

“I didn’t know how Muggle-borns would be taken here,” she admitted softly. “And I thought it might just be...  _ easier _ to deal with.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth to say something then closed it again. As the air between them grew heavy and tense, Hermione turned to continue walking, having realized they had both stopped dead in the corridor. 

“You’re probably right,” Malfoy said, falling back into step with her. He inconspicuously glanced at his watch and quickly covered it with his uniform sleeve once more. “I’ve got to get to Potions. Later, Granger.” 

“Later, Malfoy,” she said softly but he was already gone. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought the look on his face was one of nervous apprehension. Clearly, Malfoy was out of his element just as much as she was here. She found it odd that they had to rely on one another, in a way, and since they had been there, he had actually been trying  _ not _ to be a massive arse. 

And aside from some mild ribbing, he hadn’t been particularly rude at all. It was the silver lining to a disastrous situation, she supposed, as she expanded the bag of books with a furtive glance around and made her way out onto the grounds for her first Magizoology class. 

=

“Welcome, welcome!” Helga Hufflepuff exclaimed as she arrived on the grounds, walking into the circle of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students. She looked around, beaming at them all. “I trust you all had a wonderful summer?” 

There was a general chorus of agreement and Hufflepuff seemed thrilled. Hermione smiled meekly as she met the professor’s gaze. 

“Well,” Hufflepuff exclaimed again. “We’ve no time to waste, you’ll be taking your NEWTs soon enough! We will begin our lessons for the year with a study of bicorns!” 

Hermione glanced surreptitiously around the clearing but the other students were all listening raptly. She quickly searched her brain for any recollection of bicorns, but she had dropped Care of Magical Creatures following her OWLs and she only vaguely remembered reading a brief description in her text from the class.

“Who can tell me about a bicorn?” Hufflepuff asked expectantly. 

Beside Hermione, Helena Ravenclaw raised an arm, along with a handful of other students. Hufflepuff gestured to Helena. 

“A bicorn is part cow, part panther – it sheds its two horns which are highly useful in potions brewing. The bicorn feasts on virtuous husbands and is thus quite dangerous and overweight,” Helena explained. 

“It’s counterpart?” Hufflepuff said, nodding in Helena’s direction with a smile. 

“The chichevache,” a Gryffindor boy answered. “Which is known to feast on virtuous wives – and is consequently thin.” 

The males in the class snickered. Hufflepuff smiled indulgently. 

“Yes, so says legend,” the professor responded good-naturedly. “But I have myself before seen a thin bicorn and a fat chichevache. Suppose it depends after all, doesn’t it?” 

The class chuckled and Hermione found herself enraptured at the easy way with which Hufflepuff commanded a casual respect from her students. It seemed the woman had more of an edge than Hermione had always suspected.

“Divide into groups of three,” Hufflepuff requested. “Our first study of the year will be on bicorns. Their mannerisms, habits, their magical and physical properties. As a group you will present your findings to me two weeks from now.” 

She waved towards an enclosure where a number of the strange beasts were roaming. Hermione found herself highly fascinated as she watched them interact with one another; two were playfully fighting, smashing their horns into each other. 

“And before anyone complains – even if any of you were married, certainly none of you are virtuous enough to merit being in any danger!” Hufflepuff tittered at her own ribbing as the class roared with laughter again. Hermione laughed as well, meeting the teacher’s gaze as she permitted a small wink. 

The professor walked away towards the pen of bicorns, leaving the students to divide themselves into groups. Hermione chewed her lip nervously as she looked around at the other students. Helena was walking towards a boy from Ravenclaw with thick dark hair. 

“Hello,” said a boy behind Hermione’s shoulder and she jumped in surprise, turning. He was a Ravenclaw as well, tall and gangly with thin, dirty blond hair. “Shall we work together?” He flashed her a smile of crooked teeth. 

“Apologies, Malcolm, Hermione will be working with Heath and I,” Helena stepped in, dragging Hermione bodily by the arm. In an aside, she said, “I hope you don’t mind. Malcolm can be rather overbearing, you see.”

“Not at all,” Hermione waved it off with a smile, grateful not to have been left to the last, given everyone else had been classmates for six years. She held a hand out to the dark-haired boy. “I’m Hermione Granger.” 

“Heath Blakely,” he responded with a smile. “Shall we select a bicorn?”  

=

“You ought to suggest to your friend he should not befriend Waldo Baron,” Helena stated icily, glancing across the room where Baron and Malfoy were sitting together, waiting for Charms to begin that afternoon. 

“Why is that?” Hermione asked, confused. It occurred to her that she might have found Baron to be attractive if not for the sneer he shot their way, as if hearing Helena speak of him. 

“He is nothing more than a prejudiced snob who thinks himself superior to those of lesser blood,” she said angrily. “He is rude and hurtful.” 

“Then he and Malfoy will get along just fine,” Hermione clipped darkly. Malfoy broke into a smirk at something Baron had said as she looked at the two of them, his grey eyes dancing with amusement. But even as she said it, Hermione felt a pang of remorse given he had been amenable, at the least, all day.

Helena raised her eyebrows and merely stared at Malfoy. “How have the two of you become friends?” 

“Our parents are curse-breakers together,” Hermione replied, finding no choice but to stick with the half-spun story they had ventured into the night before at the sorting ceremony.

Her gaze shifted to the next table over, where two Slytherin girls were sitting. One of them shot Hermione a haughty look and she recognized her as the black-haired girl who had been sitting with Baron and Malfoy at the feast the night before. The other girl had curly blonde hair and drew absently on a blank sheet of parchment. 

“Who are those girls?” Hermione asked in an undertone. Helena glanced over then looked back to her books dismissively. 

“The blonde is Alice Fawley, and the black-haired girl is Cornelia Nott,” Helena said, her eyes narrowing. “Pure-bloods – and just ask them. Horrible, both of them. Supposedly Cornelia Nott and Waldo Baron are betrothed to be wed. Unpleasant children they’ll produce, if you ask me.”

“Aren’t you pure-blood?” Hermione asked, surprise colouring her tone. Helena shook her head, her eyes rolling ostentatiously. 

“ _ No _ , half-blood,” she said quietly, “my father was a  _ Muggle _ .” Hermione instantly got the impression she wasn’t fond of her heritage. Helena stared at Hermione for a long moment, as if gauging whether she was trustworthy. “Mum’s brilliant, really, but the most daft thing she’s ever done was to run around with a Muggle. By the time I was born, he was long gone. Didn’t want a witch for a daughter –  _ or _ a wife.” 

“Really!” Hermione exclaimed softly. 

“Truly,” Helena whispered, “but that isn’t the  _ official _ story. Mum didn’t want anyone knowing I was born out of wedlock so she told everyone she and the Muggle – his name was Ascot Fletcher – had eloped but she chose to keep her name and that he had died a tragic death shortly after. She did it to give me a better life, really... I just wish she hadn’t done any of it.” 

“Wow,” Hermione breathed. “That’s –” 

She was cut off as Helena made an odd sort of sound and gesture and Hermione glanced up as Rowena Ravenclaw walked into the room. 

“Welcome to your first day of classes,” Ravenclaw clipped with a tight smile. She scanned the room of seventh year Ravenclaws and Slytherins, her gaze settling on Hermione’s for a moment longer than anyone else. “Please open your books to chapter three, we will begin with a review of engorgement charms.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you so incredibly much to all of you lovelies who take the time to read my stories. I love reading your thoughts, your theories, and your ideas! And to the silent readers and followers, much love as well.
> 
> Thanks to LaBelladone x for her keen eye.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

 

Hermione slipped into her first Defence Against the Dark Arts class the next morning just in time. Her second night in Ravenclaw had been nearly as disconcerting as the first and as a result, she had left her Defence text in her dorm. 

The class was nearly full when she arrived; Helena was sitting at a table with Heath Blakely and one of the other Ravenclaw girls in their year, a redhead named Tania Randall. Hermione glanced around, noting with some discomfort an open seat beside Malcolm, the boy who had spoken to her in Magizoology the day before. 

Inconspicuously pretending she hadn’t seen, Hermione was surprised to notice an open seat beside Malfoy. He was watching her, one eyebrow raised. With a subtle tilt of his head, he indicated the space next to him. 

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide before she slipped into the seat beside him. He rolled his eyes, pulling a quill and inkwell from his bag. 

“Remember, people here think we’re friends,” he muttered under his breath. “Or at the very least, that we get along. Unless you keep acting like it’s a huge bloody deal, of course.” 

Hermione didn’t have to look at him to see the smirk on his lips. 

“You’re right,” she conceded delicately. She placed her text and supplies on the table next to his, trying not to instinctively recoil from his close proximity. 

“Library today, after supper?” he asked. “See if we can’t find a way out of this situation.” 

Hermione nodded in a non-committal sort of gesture. “Fine by me. The sooner we begin, the sooner we know what we’re working with as far as research materials.”

“Exactly,” he nodded. 

Then the doors flew open and Hermione felt her breath catch as the figure of Godric Gryffindor strode to the front of the room, looking every bit as intimidating as he had at the feast two nights prior, his robes billowing about him.

“Welcome to your seventh year Defence Against the Dark Arts class,” Gryffindor began assertively. “This year, we will study many complicated spells. I would advise you to pay attention, as they may one day save your life.” 

He looked around the classroom, assessing each student. Hermione glanced to Malfoy, who was looking at Gryffindor with something unrecognizable in his expression. 

“We will begin with a tale.” With a wave of his wand, an image materialized on the wall behind the professor. A small, foreboding spit of land, the ocean spray breaking angrily upon its shores. Hermione thought she recognized the image but couldn’t place it. 

“This is an island in the North Sea,” Gryffindor began, “and it is told that its first inhabitant was a wizard called Ekrizdis, who practiced untold and terrible dark magic in an impenetrable fortress he constructed himself. Experiments the likes of which we can only guess. Ekrizdis had made the island unplottable and thus it was never discovered until a hundred years ago upon his death, when the enchantments were lifted.” 

“Oh,” Hermione breathed and Malfoy glanced at her, his expression one of confusion. “Of course.” 

“The first team to investigate the island never returned,” Gryffindor went on. The students were silent, as if none dared to breathe. “The stories told by the next to visit were of terrors beyond measure. The experiments Ekrizdis had undertaken had altered the very nature of the island. It was dark, cold, inhospitable. It had become infested by creatures; wraiths, neither living nor dead.” 

“Dementors,” Malfoy murmured, and Hermione nodded, feeling  a shudder race along her spine.

“Yes, Dementors,” Gryffindor agreed. “Very good, Mr Malfoy. Legend says the dementors are the restless souls of the Muggles Ekrizdis tortured and murdered there. They feast on hope and the souls of humans.” 

“Azkaban won’t be established as a prison for centuries yet,” Hermione quietly informed Malfoy. “The Dementors are not prison guards, simply feral monsters.” He nodded, looking thoughtful.

“To this day, the island remains untouched. But a spell was created, to drive the foul beasts off, to starve them of the positive emotions they so crave.” Gryffindor looked around the room. “Does anyone know the spell?” 

Hermione glanced at Malfoy who merely stared back at her. Hesitantly, she raised her hand. 

“Miss Granger,” Gryffindor said with a nod. 

“The Patronus charm,” she answered, “ _ Expecto Patronum _ .”  

“Very good,” Gryffindor replied, fixing Hermione with a curious glance. “Ten points to Ravenclaw. Are you aware of how to cast a Patronus, Miss Granger?” 

“Yes,” Hermione said, swallowing heavily. She stood, casting her Patronus before sitting back down. 

There was a collective gasp as her wispy, white otter twisted and rolled around the room before dissolving to nothing. Gryffindor looked on in genuine surprise. Malfoy was staring at her with an unreadable expression, somewhere between awe and annoyance. 

“Excellent, take another twenty points,” Gryffindor said quietly after a moment. “Yes, impressive. Corporeal, even. It has been noted in recent years that the Dementors drift from their island; they grow uneasy, and hungry. It may benefit you all to learn the Patronus charm. It is where we will begin our lessons for the year.” 

_ Good work not drawing attention to yourself _ , Malfoy scrawled on her parchment, his script thin and elegant. He was scowling at her as Hermione glanced over, frowning. Perhaps she should have stayed silent, but there was no harm in knowing the answers to a professor’s question. Then he rolled his eyes and reached over to write on her parchment again. 

_ But nice Patronus _ . 

Fighting back a smile as she opened her text, Hermione lifted her quill to reply.

_ Thanks _ . 

=

As Hermione walked into her first Potions class that afternoon, she found herself to be oddly nervous. She had made a point to be early and was surprised to see Salazar Slytherin seated at a desk at the front of the room, writing a letter. He glanced at her as she settled into a seat, one eyebrow raised. 

“Please come here, Miss Granger,” he said softly. Eyes widening in shock and apprehension, she walked to the front. “You are nearly a quarter hour early.”

“I apologize, Professor,” she began, “I just wanted to make sure I would find the room, you see.” 

He waved a hand, dismissing the thought. 

“I am hopeful your previous education in the fine art of potion-brewing has been adequate,” he stated and Hermione hesitated, not entirely sure what he was expecting her to say. 

“I hope so too, sir,” she replied. 

Slytherin stared at her for a long moment. Then he offered a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“We shall see,” he said. “Have you the appropriate materials and ingredients?”

“I believe so, Professor,” she responded, silently thanking Malfoy for having the forethought to get her a set of books and materials as well. She pondered for a moment, still gauging Salazar Slytherin as a person. “Might I ask what we will be preparing today, so that I may review the text?” 

Slytherin’s brows flickered in surprise. 

“Very well,” he responded, staring at her curiously. “How… studious of you. We will brew an Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Page 387.” 

“Thank you, Professor,” she said. “Was that all?” 

He nodded sharply and Hermione turned to walk to her seat but then he spoke again. 

“Your colleague performed very well in my class yesterday, Miss Granger,” Slytherin commented and she turned back around. “I have high hopes for you as well. Do try not to let me down, won’t you?” 

Hermione chewed her lip then offered him a smile. “Yes, sir.” 

As she took her seat and began reading the appropriate chapter, Hermione decided that she certainly couldn’t allow Malfoy to best her in this new reality, even despite the fact that they had been getting on moderately well. 

Besides that, Hermione fully understood that this first potion was a test; a challenge of sorts. So when she caught the look of pleasant surprise on Slytherin’s face as she handed in her perfectly brewed vial at the end of the lesson, she couldn’t help the satisfied smile which slipped to her features as she walked away. 

=

Hermione caught Malfoy’s eye at the end of dinner; he nodded subtly toward the entrance of the Great Hall, scratching his head. She raised her eyebrows in response, gathering her things. 

“I’m going to visit the library,” she murmured in response to Helena’s curious glance. The other girl nodded and resumed her conversation with a sixth year.

“Hello,” Malfoy murmured as they fell into step with one another. “How were your lessons?” 

Hermione glanced over, surprised at his cordiality. She had still suspected it was probably killing him to be friendly to her but perhaps his efforts  _ were _ genuine. 

“Quite well, actually, though I’m going to struggle with Divination,” she admitted. While the professor of the course had seemed reasonably knowledgeable, her own past experiences with the subject were hard to ignore. 

“ _ You _ , struggle?” Malfoy asked with a smirk. “Divination isn’t even hard.” 

“Of course it isn’t hard,” she retorted, “I’ve simply never believed in it. I find it to be fallacious and untrustworthy.” 

“Seriously?” Malfoy asked, turning to her, his expression bewildered. “Divination is credible enough, and the gift of Sight is an ancient magical ability which has always been highly regarded. I’m surprised you don’t believe in it, given all that nonsense with Potter and prophecies.” 

“I’m surprised you  _ do _ ,” she replied. “Prophecies are imprecise. Even the prophecy that caused Voldemort to go after Harry in the first place could have been about Neville as well, did you know?”  

“I didn’t,” he said with a vague flicker of interest. “You’re obviously judging Divination on the whole by your experiences with that lunatic Trelawney. Much of the art of Divination is extremely sound. The lessons with that centaur were much better.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Hermione said, though a shadow of doubt had crept in at his adamance. Perhaps she would attempt to give the professor in this time – a self-proclaimed Seer – a chance. “How have you found your classes so far?” 

“Not terrible,” he said with a shrug. “Hufflepuff surprised me. Always assumed she was the harmless, annoying type but her class seems interesting enough.” 

Despite herself, Hermione snickered at his assessment, partially because she had, almost unwittingly, assumed the same. 

“I generally enjoy Runes,” he continued, “and Potions with Slytherin was good. He certainly has high expectations.” 

“Yes, he does,” Hermione agreed. “He said you did well in his class, yesterday.” 

“Wonderful,” he said sarcastically, though he seemed to swell almost imperceptibly with pride. Hermione rolled her eyes at his reaction. 

She had almost forgotten their aim as they arrived at the library, having been caught up in a surprisingly half-decent conversation with the blond. Nerves gripped her as they stood at the threshold of her favourite place in the castle. But before she could consider the challenge that faced them, Malfoy had unceremoniously trudged forward and Hermione was forced to follow along quickly. 

Her initial thoughts were that the library of this time period was larger than she had expected, though not nearly as comprehensive as the one they had grown used to. But whether or not they would be able to find any resources that might possibly relate to time alteration would be another story. 

“Everything is arranged differently,” Malfoy murmured, his tone tinged with annoyance. He trailed his fingertips over the spines of several books on a nearby shelf, almost reverently. “This is usually the section on Goblin wars. Instead it’s… advanced charms.” 

“We can figure it out,” Hermione said, blinking as she tore her gaze from his actions. She examined the surrounding shelves, making a mental note of where each subject was located. Within several minutes, she found Malfoy, gazing absently at a particularly old looking text in the history section. “Malfoy, this way.” 

“This details the first recorded usages of magic,” he breathed.

“Really,” Hermione commented, eyeing the book with interest. “Truthfully, I had no idea you were such a bibliophile.” 

“There are a lot of things about me, Granger, of which you are unaware,” he clipped, tucking the book under his arm. “I do appreciate books, especially ones of great significance, though I do not rely on them to keep me warm at night, as you do.” 

“I do not!” she hissed, glaring at his obnoxious smirk. 

“Relax,” he murmured, rolling his eyes, “I only sort of meant it.” 

Hermione huffed, shaking her head. “And here I was thinking you were actually trying to be tolerable.” 

“We all have our limits, Granger,” he teased. Looking at his sparkling eyes, Hermione was struck with the sudden thought that perhaps, he was actually engaging her in humour. So accustomed as she was to his malicious brand of snark, Hermione hadn’t recognized it at first. Somewhat sheepishly, she forced a terse smile that she suspected landed closer to a grimace. 

“Right, well, I’ve found the section on time magic. Though I don’t suppose we should get our hopes up,” she said, and he obligingly followed her through the aisles. 

“I see what you mean,” he said, jaw clenched. He briefly scanned the titles on the small shelf which held the temporal magic resources. There were only six books in total. “Clearly, time travel is not something which is extensively understood yet. Perhaps one of them will help.” 

He stacked the entire section and with a flick of his wand, they settled on a nearby table. Raising an eyebrow at Hermione, he sat down and selected the top book, beginning to read. 

Wrenching herself from the melancholy thoughts that these books weren’t likely to help their predicament, Hermione joined him and selected the next book in the stack. 

=

Some time later, Malfoy set down his book, taking the next from the pile. He glanced up at Hermione. 

“Did you know they celebrate the changing of the seasons here?” he asked softly, mindful of the librarian who had lurked past a few times. 

“No,” Hermione responded, looking up at him, “where did you hear that?” 

“Waldo Baron mentioned it,” he said. He paused a moment, looking thoughtful. “Supposedly there is a harvest feast in celebration of the autumnal equinox, and a ball at the winter solstice.”

“A ball?” Hermione questioned, wrinkling her nose. “They do this every year?” 

“Apparently,” he said with a shrug. “They place a lot of faith in astronomical and celestial phenomena.” 

“Interesting,” Hermione said, her brows raised. “However, let’s hope we aren’t still here by the winter solstice.” 

They both jumped and returned to their studies at the sound of someone approaching. It was Malcolm, the boy from Ravenclaw who Helena had warned Hermione of. He edged towards the bank of tables she and Malfoy were working at, smiling widely and toothily as he noticed her. 

“Hello Hermione,” he said, walking towards her. Malfoy looked up in surprise and Hermione could almost see the mirth in his otherwise neutral expression. 

“Oh, hello Malcolm,” she responded, making an attempt at cordiality. “What are you doing here?” 

“I am reading ahead in my reference materials,” Malcolm replied with a rather smug grin. He opened his mouth to say more but it was only then the boy seemed to notice Malfoy, who was gazing at him through lidded eyes, unimpressed. 

Deflated, Malcolm walked to a nearby table and began reading from his Transfiguration text. 

Over the next fifteen minutes, however, Hermione could physically feel Malcolm’s eyes on hers. She looked up at Malfoy. 

“Is he staring at me?” she hissed. Malfoy nodded sharply, then suddenly he snickered. 

“Looks like you’ve got a date to the solstice ball, Granger,” he muttered, smirking. “The bloke hasn’t looked away from you since he got here.” 

“I haven’t,” Hermione said with an involuntary shudder. “He’s here to do homework.” 

“Think what you like, Granger,” Malfoy said, shaking with repressed laughter. “But I can promise you he isn’t here to read his textbooks.” 

Hermione turned back to her text, huffing, determined to ignore both Malcolm and Malfoy. She only made it through another two chapters, however, before the librarian came around and announced the library was closing. Making note of her page, she despondently returned the books to their shelves. 

“Anything?” she asked, looking at Malfoy. 

“No,” he replied, frowning. “But we still have more to read.” 

Hermione sighed, adjusting her bag on her shoulder as they left the library when she noticed Malcolm a ways ahead, presumably sulking.

“My apologies, Granger, I should have left you alone to study with your new friend tonight,” Malfoy said, laughing at his own joke. 

“No, you should not have,” she replied sharply. “Malcolm seems nice enough, he’s just quite forward.” 

“Forward? Seriously?” Malfoy scoffed, his eyes dancing with mirth again, “he’s arranging your betrothal as we speak.” 

“I highly doubt that,” Hermione huffed with a roll of the eyes. 

Malfoy shrugged, snickering. Hermione decided that while he was making an effort not to be horrible to her, she still didn’t particularly care to spend time with him and his sense of humour. 

“Well, later, Granger,” Malfoy said, turning in the direction of the dungeons. He eyed Malcolm with one last sneer of amused disdain, a look that it seemed only he could pull off. “Enjoy your walk back to Ravenclaw Tower.” 

“Malfoy,” she hissed but he was gone. 

Within moments, as if sensing she was now alone, Malcolm appeared by Hermione’s side. 

“Hello again,” he said with that same toothy grin. Raised by two dentists, Hermione nearly cringed at the state of his teeth. 

“Hello, Malcolm –” she began. 

“Miss Granger,” came another voice from behind them, thick with Scottish brogue. Her eyes widened as she turned and saw Rowena Ravenclaw walking towards her. “Might I have a minute?” 

“Of course, Professor,” Hermione said, shooting Malcolm an apologetic, ‘duty-calls’ sort of look. 

Ravenclaw watched Malcolm as he wandered off, dejectedly, with a twitch to her lips. 

“Never mind Mr Herbert, I am told he cannot resist a lovely woman,” Ravenclaw said. Hermione felt a flutter of nerves at the thought of conversing with the brilliant and influential woman. Rowena turned to Hermione, fixing her with dark blue eyes. “I wanted to personally welcome you to Hogwarts and to Ravenclaw house. I feel you will get on most excellently.”  

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said, tilting her head. “I appreciate that very much.”

Ravenclaw began to walk along the corridor and Hermione followed beside her.

“How are you finding Hogwarts so far?” Ravenclaw asked, turning her keen eyes on Hermione once more. 

“It’s wonderful,” Hermione said. “I feel at home already, as if I’ve been here far longer than two days.” 

“I am glad to hear it, Miss Granger,” Ravenclaw said, with a brief smile. “Please do not hesitate to come to me if you have any questions or concerns.” 

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said again, smiling. “I am told there will be a feast at the equinox?” 

“Of course,” Ravenclaw replied, taken aback. “Did you not celebrate the equinox at Castelobruxo?” 

“I’m afraid not,” Hermione said, sincerely wondering how such a tradition had fallen out of favour, given the apparent reverence with which it was treated in this time. 

“Well, it is a wonderful feast,” Ravenclaw said brusquely. They had arrived at Ravenclaw Tower. “I will said good night, Miss Granger, though I have one last question.” 

“What is it?” Hermione asked, turning to the founder of her new house. 

“At the sorting, I do not believe my companions noticed. However, I am curious as to why you lied about your blood heritage?” 

Hermione froze, eyes widened. Ravenclaw’s expression was unreadable. She realized she shouldn’t have been surprised the woman knew she had lied, given she was the most brilliant witch of this time.

“My parents are Muggles, you see,” Hermione said in barely a whisper. “I did not know what sort of treatment I might receive at Hogwarts.” 

“I understand,” Ravenclaw said, her expression softening. “There are those, of course, who believe themselves superior because of their blood. But I think you will find most of the students and professors here at Hogwarts carry no such prejudices.” 

“I respect that,” Hermione said appreciatively. 

“And,” Ravenclaw continued, “as clearly your parents are  _ not _ , in fact, curse-breakers, I will allow you to keep the truth as to how you and your colleague Mr Malfoy actually came to know one another. Good night, Miss Granger.”  
  
“Good night, Professor,” Hermione murmured, but Ravenclaw had already turned on her heel and was gone, her shoes clicking heavily on the stone floor. Her mind reeling so intensely, Hermione  _ almost _ missed the correct answer to the riddle at the entrance of Ravenclaw Tower.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks as always to everyone who takes the time to read and review this fic. Reading your thoughts and theories about where this is going make my day every single time and it's so appreciated. I hope you continue to enjoy. 
> 
> Thanks to LaBelladone x for her assistance.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Despite having been thrust into the most unorthodox and extraordinary situation Hermione could have imagined, she soon found herself settling into a routine in the Hogwarts of 999 AD. 

While much of the course content was different than she had studied in what she had dubbed  _ reality _ , she was largely able to pick it up with relative ease. In the weeks since she and Malfoy had been transported back in time, Hermione had begun to excel at most of her classes. 

And other than a brief crisis of identity on September the nineteenth, wherein her  _ second  _ nineteenth birthday came to pass, her days had become comfortable and familiar. She was even growing accustomed to being an eagle rather than a lion, and found she quite liked having a riddle to answer in order to unlock her new common room. 

Her classes were interesting, and if anything, often more hands-on than she was used to. Gryffindor had them duelling in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and the level of interaction with the creatures in Magizoology always left Hermione fascinated. 

Hermione had continued to meet Malfoy in the library a few times a week, poring through the books on time magic, though they were nearing the end of available resources, and no closer to an answer than they had been when they stumbled across the portal. 

They typically worked in relative silence, and while Hermione still didn’t particularly care to spend time with him, she felt herself growing used to his smug humour, much to her own chagrin. His teasing and snide remarks slid off her as water, and from time to time she even found herself snickering along with him. 

It was simultaneously frightening and a relief to realize that she was growing used to spending time with him, rather than fighting all the time. She suspected it was largely to do with the fact that they were stranded in this bizarre situation together, because she couldn’t imagine getting on with him otherwise. Of course, they rarely saw one another outside of their library sessions; the animosity between Helena Ravenclaw and Waldo Baron ensured that. 

The Monday following her pseudo-birthday, Hermione rose early as always, preparing herself for the day. It was only when she sat down at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast did she realize there was an abnormally sparse number of students in the hall. 

She met Malfoy’s gaze at the Slytherin table and he merely raised an eyebrow. 

Then Helena drifted in, lacking her school uniform and her class materials. 

“You’ll have to eat quickly, we’ve got to get to class soon,” Hermione clipped as the girl sat beside her. Helena gave her a sharp look. 

“We haven’t got classes today, it’s the equinox!” Helena exclaimed, as if it were obvious. Hermione stared blankly. 

“Classes are cancelled?” Hermione questioned. “What do we do instead?” 

“Whatever we like,” Helena said, carefully buttering a slice of toast. “You can go into the village if you like, but it’s mostly houses and a few shops. Usually we go onto the grounds. Tonight there will be a feast in celebration.”

“Alright,” Hermione murmured, surprised. When she looked up again, Malfoy was staring at her expectantly. She excused herself and walked toward the Slytherin table, where Malfoy had stood and was preparing to leave for class. 

“There are no classes today because of the equinox, apparently,” she whispered and he made a face. 

“Really?” he asked, then shrugged. “We might as well use the time to keep working in the library then.” 

“No you won’t,” Waldo Baron said gruffly as he walked up to them, dressed all in black. He turned to her, an eyebrow raised and a muttered “Granger.” 

“Oh, hello,” she said, realizing Baron had never addressed her directly, because ordinarily when she spent time with Malfoy the two of them were alone in the library. 

“You may not do schoolwork on the equinox,” Baron continued. “It’s a Hogwarts rule. And it is a wonderful day, we will go to the shores of the lake.” 

Malfoy shrugged, glancing pointedly at Hermione. “I’ll take my books back to the common room, then.” He started towards the exit, turning around. “You coming?” 

Surprised, Hermione followed after him. They walked largely in silence, diverging at a certain staircase that led Malfoy towards the dungeons and Hermione up to Ravenclaw Tower, where she left her bookbag and transfigured her spare uniform into some casual clothes befitting the era. 

She was further shocked to see Malfoy waiting for her at the top of the same staircase. He was casually waving his wand, muttering to himself. Hermione bit her lip as a wisp of white vapour came from his wand before dissipating into the air. 

She had caught him practicing his Patronus a couple times when he thought she wasn’t looking. Their Defence class had moved on from the spell after two lessons, but it seemed Malfoy was still working at it. 

“Ready to go?” she questioned softly, making her presence known. 

“Yes,” he clipped, eyes widening slightly. She suspected he practiced when he was alone because it was Godric Gryffindor who had taught him the spell. 

Hermione stared at him for a moment longer. “What memory are you focusing on? To produce your Patronus.” 

He clenched his jaw and Hermione fully expected him to walk off in a huff, ignoring the question. Instead he met her eyes intently, his brow furrowed a little. 

“The end of the war,” he replied evenly and Hermione, taken aback entirely, gaped at him. 

If she hadn’t been looking closely, she might have missed the flicker of discomfort pass his features. Despite the times they had spent working together, conversation  _ never  _ ventured to topics even remotely related to the war.

“And that’s a happy memory for you, is it?” she asked tentatively, testing the water. 

“Yes,” he said, quietly. He held her gaze and Hermione faltered and looked away. He sighed, turning to head toward the main doors of the castle. “I hope you didn’t think it was sunshine and rainbows, Granger.” 

“How do you mean?” Hermione asked, looking at him as they walked. 

“I mean, having a sadistic madman and his killer snake move into my house wasn’t ideal,” he said, the ghost of a smirk slipping to his lips. Hermione swallowed back a small gasp, surprised to hear him talk in such a way of his former master.

He looked down, fiddling absently with a thread on his shirt. 

“By the end, I just wanted my family together and alive.” 

“I can understand that,” Hermione said, knowing the feeling all too well. She bit back the flood of emotion that threatened to pour forth at the thought of her own parents, stuck across the world in the alternative lives she had imposed upon them. 

This was certainly territory that had never been broached between the two of them. 

A tense sort of silence fell over the two of them once more, as they crossed the threshold of the castle into the grounds. 

Hermione thought momentarily of the wisp of vapour Malfoy had been producing. It seemed his memory of choice was certainly one of significant conviction and happiness. She turned to him, studying his thoughtful expression. 

“Malfoy,” Hermione said, biting her lip. He stopped walking and turned to her, an eyebrow raised. “I don’t think it’s true, when they say that Death Eaters  _ can’t _ cast Patronuses. I think it depends fully on the person.” 

She knew by the look on his face she had discovered the reason he was fixated on learning the spell. 

“None of the Death Eaters I knew could cast one,” he responded bitterly. “Not my father, or Rodolphus, or –”

“Snape could,” she interrupted him softly. 

“Severus turned out to be a spy,” he clipped. 

“Spy or no, he was once a Death Eater, and he had the Mark,” Hermione continued. “I believe, he was able to cast a Patronus because he knew love, unrequited though it was. He was able to draw on those emotions. Emotions I  _ highly _ doubt someone like Rodolphus Lestrange ever experienced.”

Malfoy chewed his lip, looking torn. 

“Your attitude even now is so transparently different, Malfoy,” Hermione said, meeting his gaze. “The ability to cast the spell lies with the person, with the belief and the heart within. You weren’t drawn into the darkness like they were. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe it was entirely your decision to join him.”

“It wasn’t,” he said dismissively. 

“Keep at it,” she urged. “And have a little faith. That might be all you’re missing.” 

Making no indication he had heard her, he carried on towards the lake and Hermione kept pace, allowing the silence to overtake them once more. 

But then he glanced at her, swallowing heavily as they neared a group of students. “Thanks, Granger.” 

“You’re welcome,” she whispered, lips curving into a smile. 

=

The atmosphere at the Black Lake was chaotic, despite the nice weather and the fact that it was to be a lazy, relaxing day. Instinctively, Malfoy drew his wand, walking over to Waldo Baron, who seemed to be in an argument with Helena. 

Hermione rushed to her friend’s side, who was brandishing her own wand at the antagonizing Slytherin. From what Hermione could surmise, Waldo and his group of Slytherins had haughtily demanded Helena and her friends leave the shores of the lake and things had escalated rather quickly. 

“We will stay here and  _ you _ all may leave, then!” Helena was shouting, glaring at the dark-haired boy. 

Baron sneered, his lip curling angrily. “We were here first!” he snapped. 

“It’s a large lake!” Helena threw back. 

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, who rolled his eyes at the antics. Students, even a thousand years ago, it seemed, were prone to petty arguments. 

“That’s enough,” Salazar Slytherin growled as he and Gryffindor approached the group of students, evidently out to enjoy the day off themselves. Instantly the students fell silent. “What is the meaning of this? On this day of celebration and gratitude, we argue?” 

His tone was deadly soft, and even Hermione felt her eyes widening as she stared at the professor, feeling a shiver pass the length of her spine. 

Baron glanced at his head of house but did not speak. Slytherin and Gryffindor looked among the students, and those holding wands aloft sheepishly stowed them. 

“We will all enjoy the lake,” Gryffindor bellowed, “and any who cannot may return to their dorms and stay there. Is this clear?” 

There was a general murmur of assent and the students dispersed into groups along the shores of the lake. Some had brought food and drink, while others began playing chess or games with dice on transfigured tables.

Malfoy briefly met Hermione’s eyes as he turned to join the Slytherins and Hermione followed Helena and her group of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff friends. 

=

“Waldo Baron seems quite the character,” Hermione commented casually to Helena as they sat on the grass beyond the shores of the lake, snacking on fruit and fresh bread. Instantly the girl rolled her eyes. 

“ _ Waldo Baron _ is abhorrent,” Helena replied, flipping her long hair over one shoulder. “He merely spouts the prejudiced rhetoric that men like his father and Salazar Slytherin so favour. If I never saw nor heard from him again I would consider it no loss at all.” 

“You two really dislike one another,” Hermione stated. She noticed Waldo standing with Malfoy around the next bank of the lake. Waldo Baron’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Helena.

“I despise him, and it’s fully mutual,” Helena said. “He always has some snide remark or other to make with regards to my blood status, my mother, my  _ absentee _ Muggle father. As if  _ I _ chose the parents to whom I would be born!” 

“I know exactly what you mean,” Hermione said distractedly, her eyes still lingering on Malfoy. 

But even as she said it, some part of her knew that this version of Malfoy – or perhaps, was it just who he really was now? – was not inclined to treat her in the same way as he always had. Whether it was due to the war, or due to their mutual situation, she couldn’t say.

Her thoughts drifted to the conversation they had had in the corridor earlier, wherein he had declared he had been happy when the war ended, and by extension, when Voldemort fell. 

Helena seemed to follow her gaze and tilted her head. 

“You said Draco was cruel to you when the two of you were at Castelobruxo,” she said and Hermione turned to her friend. “But the two of you seem to get along here. Why is that?” 

“I can’t say for sure,” Hermione responded. “Perhaps he’s matured. Maybe coming here together, and knowing no one else but each other.”

“Or he desires to court you,” Helena said coyly and Hermione’s eyes widened. “Perhaps he will ask you to escort him to the Solstice Ball.”

“Absolutely not,” she assured Helena who looked unconvinced. 

“Have your parents arranged a betrothal with his parents?” Helena asked.  

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. The very thought of being involved with Malfoy made her queasy, let alone married. “My parents would prefer to allow me to select a suitor. And his parents would not allow him to marry beneath his blood.” 

“Interesting, that I do not know of the house of Malfoy,” Helena stated, looking thoughtful. 

“French,” Hermione murmured, almost without thinking, recalling his disgruntled words when they had been sorted. “His parents were the first generation to leave France.”

“Oh,” Helena said brightly, smiling, “perhaps he will allow me to practice my conversational French.” 

“I’m not sure how fluent he is,” Hermione said quickly, mentally cursing herself for her poorly reasoned answer. “You could ask him, I suppose.” Inwardly she hoped Malfoy spoke his ancestral tongue well enough if Helena  _ did  _ happen to ask.

**=**

The harvest feast in celebration of the equinox was almost certainly the most extravagant meal Hermione had ever seen in her life, and that included the annual Hogwarts start of term feasts, and the meal Molly Weasley prepared for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. 

The house tables were piled high with platters of fruits, breads and cheeses. There were soups and hearty stews loaded with root vegetables, steaming roasts and various fowl, all kept magically warm. 

Students were milling about, sitting at other tables, standing in clusters and mingling. 

Several bards had come into the castle, playing lutes and pipes and singing joyous melodies. 

Hermione’s eyes widened in disbelief when she walked into the hall, astounded despite everything she had seen in the magical world. 

She caught a flash of platinum blond in her peripheral vision and noticed Malfoy by the Slytherin table, selecting a crisp green apple from a tray and sipping a mug of cider. 

He looked to be enjoying himself, something Hermione wasn’t altogether familiar with. As she watched him, forgetting herself for the moment, she saw him talking with one of the roaming bards. The man was holding a lute in one hand and gesturing wildly with the other, a wide grin on his face as he spoke. 

Suddenly Malfoy set down his cider, roaring with laughter, nearly bent over. He righted himself after a moment, clutching his stomach, and clapped the bard on the shoulder, who was also chuckling.

Then Malfoy was saying something in return, and the bard was in stitches, nearly dropping his lute as he threw his head back in laughter. 

Hermione watched the exchange in utter disbelief, her brows knitted together at the sight and she was struck with a profound thought.  

Malfoy of Hogwarts 999 was different. Malfoy post-war was  _ unrecognizable _ . 

In the six years she had been to school with him before, Hermione had never seen him let his guard down and truly enjoy himself. Furthermore, she could not imagine him associating with someone of lower status, which he would consider a wandering bard to be.  

He did not smile, he did not laugh and he most certainly did not  _ joke _ . 

He wasn’t  _ pretending _ when he was with her, or now, when there was no need for pretense. Malfoy truly had grown more than she could have ever imagined. She swallowed heavily as the realization hit her with an almost physical force.

As if feeling her watching him, Malfoy sought her gaze out, still grinning, wiping at his eyes. Hermione debated walking over to join him but then he looked away from her as Baron approached him. 

The bard had begun to sing, strumming on his lute and the two Slytherins were laughing at what was evidently a humourous tune. Curious despite herself, Hermione made her way over to hear the song.

It was a merry song, a tale of the ridiculous adventures of a white dragon. Hermione caught Malfoy’s eye and he smirked, looking quite pleased with himself. 

Even Slytherin joined the small group, drinking deeply from a large flagon of what Hermione suspected was ale. He laughed loudly at the song, lingered for another minute and then carried on. A small crowd had gathered by the time the bard finished his song. 

Chuckling, Baron gave the bard a couple of coins in gratuity and the musician carried on as the crowd dispersed. 

Many students had begun to eat by this point and Hermione looked around the hall, searching out Helena or anyone else she knew. She noticed her sitting with Heath at the Hufflepuff table with some of their friends and hesitated. 

“Do you care to dine with us, Granger?” Eyes widening in surprise, Hermione realized it was Baron who had spoke. “You are a friend of Draco’s. The harvest feast is for friendships rather than houses.” 

Looking around the Great Hall, it seemed each table was more of a mash up of colours than anything else. It seemed, even in casual clothing, the students tended toward their house colours. Once more, Hermione found herself wishing this was a celebration that had carried on through the years. She thought the students of the future could have learned from such an event. Even Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were seated together at the latter’s table. 

Briefly meeting Malfoy’s grey eyes, Hermione nodded. She settled at the Slytherin table beside the blond, feeling horrendously out of place. But as they filled their plates and began to eat, Hermione realized how liberating it was.

Having grown up in a time when house loyalties ran far deeper than Hogwarts, when association dictated sides in a war, it felt oddly freeing to exist in this reality instead. When house rivalries really only equated to winning the House Cup. 

Perhaps Malfoy had been experiencing the same. She remembered again the way he had grinned and laughed with the bard, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She swallowed heavily as she picked at her meal. 

Hermione largely ate in silence, as Malfoy and Baron discussed things of little consequence. She noticed Helena watching her from across the room with narrowed eyes and gave her a sheepish smile. But then Helena returned the smile and looked pointedly at Malfoy with a wink. Hermione rolled her eyes. 

Then she caught the eyes of Hufflepuff; the woman said something to Ravenclaw who looked up sharply and met Hermione’s eyes. Hermione tried to act as if casually sitting at the Slytherin table was normal. As if she wasn’t sitting with a former Death Eater and a murderous ghost. 

But of course, here they were simply two Slytherin students. She smiled at the two founders, who both returned the gesture demurely and carried on with their conversation. 

After the meal, the founders stood to make a brief speech, a welcoming of autumn and then the celebration carried on. 

Malfoy stood, stretched and picked up his mug of cider once more. With a tilt of his head, he gestured to Hermione who followed suit. 

“Let’s take a walk,” he murmured and Hermione’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Alright,” she allowed, clutching her mug tighter. He led them from the hall, looking deep in thought. 

“Granger,” Malfoy began, turning to her. “Outside, this afternoon… I think you ought to share the story of the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady now.” 

Hermione glanced down the length of the corridor, quickly drawing Malfoy into an empty classroom. Somehow, it seemed so long ago she had mentioned the story to him – the night they had been transported back to this time.

“I only know about it because Harry spoke to the Grey Lady – Helena Ravenclaw – about what she had done with Rowena’s diadem before Voldemort turned it into a Horcrux,” Hermione began quickly, her voice scarcely above a whisper. 

A flash of irritation crossed his face at her usage of the name but he nodded even so. 

“Supposedly, the Baron was deep in unrequited love with Helena,” Hermione said, looking thoughtful. “Though I suppose that must have come about following the end of their days at Hogwarts. He certainly doesn’t seem particularly fond of her now, does he?”

“The point, Granger,” Malfoy stated blandly. 

“Well, Helena stole her mother’s diadem, tired of living in her shadow, and fled to Albania. Helena hoped it would make her wise and famous. But when Rowena grew terminally ill, she desired to re-connect with Helena once more. She requested Baron go after her and bring her home so that Rowena could say goodbye.” Hermione chewed her lower lip as she considered the implications and how it all seemed so far removed from what she could see of the two students now.

“And did she?” Malfoy asked, looking curious despite himself. 

“Helena refused,” Hermione went on. “Waldo grew angry and he  _ killed _ Helena. Then, so overwrought with remorse, he killed himself too. He wears the chains as penance.” 

“That doesn’t sound like Waldo,” Malfoy said, looking confused, as if the pieces didn’t quite fit.”For one, he  _ abhors _ Helena Ravenclaw. They’re worse than you and I. For another, I’ve never seen him with a temper so severe he could kill a woman he loved. But I guess you’re probably right, and that all must have developed down the road because none of it seems likely now. We don’t know when exactly they died, do we?” 

“No,” Hermione said, thoughtful. “All I know is that they had left Hogwarts already.” 

“You’re supposed to know everything,” Malfoy said with a smirk. They began wandering back towards the hall, where the party carried on.

“Apologies,” Hermione said with a smile, “I’ve left my future history texts in the future.” 

Malfoy actually laughed, shaking his head. “I guess we’ll probably never know.” 

“Unless we end up stuck here for that long,” Hermione said, her eyes widening. Malfoy shuddered with a grimace. 

“We’ll figure it out by then,” he replied, sounding particularly unconvinced. “I hope.” 

They arrived back at the feast, the noise level growing significantly as they walked. Malfoy looked around, running a hand through his hair. He nodded towards the Ravenclaw table and, following his gaze, Hermione saw Helena waving at her. Hermione looked back to him but he had already spotted Waldo. 

“Have a nice night, Granger,” he murmured. 

“Same to you,” she replied. He shot her a brief smirk before walking off. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you to each of you who read and those who leave their thoughts behind. It means so freaking much and you guys are the reason I get up at 6 am to find time to write. Also special hugs to HeartofAspen for making me laugh at my bowling league with her review. And also for inspiring my original interest in the founders.
> 
> Thanks to LaBelladone x for picking me up out of the dirt and dusting me off this week. Also thanks to the lovely Stephen for his input on my little fic.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

“Good day, Hermione.” 

Hermione spun in surprise, clutching her pounding heart. It was Malcolm. 

“Oh, hello, Malcolm,”she said weakly, “how are you?”

“I am most excellent,” the boy replied, flashing his crooked teeth. “Might I walk you to the library?”

Hermione appraised her sudden companion. Malcolm hadn’t been particularly forward for a number of weeks, and while he had initially come off as rather creepy, she didn’t think he was a bad person. 

“Sure, thanks,” she clipped then paused. “How did you know I was going to the library?”

“You go to the library every day at this time,” Malcolm responded, deadpan. “Where you usually meet your Slytherin friend, Draco Malfoy.” 

“Right,” Hermione said, rather lamely. 

“Are you one another’s intended, then?” Malcolm asked brazenly and without shame. Hermione turned to him, her brow furrowed. 

“Of course not,” she exclaimed, “we are friends.” 

At Malcolm’s smug returning grin, Hermione wished she hadn’t been so vehement about it. Perhaps she could have pretended she was interested in Malfoy to get Malcolm off her case. 

She blinked at the very Slytherin thought as it floated around her brain. Perhaps spending too much time with Malfoy was affecting her. 

“Have you an escort to the Solstice Ball?” Malcolm pressed and Hermione increased her pace ever so slightly as the library doors came into view. 

“I’m afraid so,” she replied, cringing inwardly at the blatant lie. Perhaps one of the other Ravenclaw boys would understand if she asked them 

“I assumed as much,” Malcolm responded with a heavy sigh. “You may say you’re only friends, but it’s only too obvious what exists between you and Draco Malfoy.  _ Studying _ .” The boy shook his head in defeat. “You’ll be going with him, then, I suppose.”

“Yes.” The word slipped out before she could re-consider and her eyes widened briefly. She hoped Malcolm hadn’t noticed. 

“Very well,” the boy said miserably and drifted away as they arrived at the library. 

Attempting to shake off the encounter, Hermione made her way quickly through the library to a secluded corner where she knew she would find Malfoy. He was already seated, their research materials in front of him as he scanned an old scroll. 

“What’s the matter with you?” he drawled, taking in her presumably disgruntled expression. 

Hermione stared at him for a moment; his blond hair was disheveled which indicated he was having no luck as usual; he had removed his robes and was wearing only his uniform. Blinking, she looked away from his gaze. 

“You have to go with me to the Solstice Ball,” she blurted. 

“You mean the ball that isn’t for another month and a fortnight?” he scoffed. “No.” 

“Why not?” Hermione asked, indignant. 

“You’re serious?” he asked, a smirk slipping onto his features. “Why in Merlin’s name do you want me to go with you anyway?” 

“Because I sort of just told Malcolm we were going together,” she said honestly. Malfoy stared blankly for a moment before recognition dawned. 

“The weird Ravenclaw with bad teeth?” he asked and Hermione was suddenly reminded of how Malfoy had given her a hard time about Malcolm weeks ago. 

“Yes,” she said anxiously, “he’s just asked me and I told him I was already going with someone, I panicked.” 

Malfoy snickered and she could tell by the look of restraint on his face he wanted to laugh. 

“Seriously, Granger?” he asked, shaking with mirth. “He asked you already? The ball is not for a long time yet. Why don’t you just ask one of your Ravenclaws or a Hufflepuff or something?”

“Because he asked if I was going with you,” she hissed, feeling sufficiently embarrassed. “He thought we were  _ betrothed _ as well, if you can believe that, but I stomped that one.” 

“Betrothed,” he said, shaking his head with amusement, “Merlin. Honestly though, from what I’ve heard, especially in Slytherin, I’d wager half the students in our year are betrothed already.”

“That’s so ancient,” Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. “Can you imagine?”

“Recall, 999, Granger. It’s how things were done. And how they are  _ still _ done, in some cases,” he paused, glancing at her, “so yes, I  _ can _ imagine.” 

“Are  _ you _ betrothed to someone?” Hermione asked, surprise hitting her like a brick wall. 

“No, thank Merlin,” he said, shrugging it off, “though my father tried to make an arrangement with the Greengrass patriarch before the war. Thankfully, it fell through.”

“That feels extremely old fashioned to me,” Hermione said bluntly as she laid her notes and supplies out on the table. 

Malfoy shrugged, his expression blank. “That’s because you weren’t raised around pureblood beliefs. And that isn’t a slight, Granger, it’s just the truth. A lot of the purest lines still see it as a duty to carry the lineage forward. Many people don’t view marriage as a choice based on interest in a person but on advancing political associations or otherwise.” 

“That’s why there’s so much inbreeding among purebloods,” Hermione muttered under her breath but Malfoy was smirking when she glanced at him. 

“There is some of that, yes,” he said but he was amused. “Not something I can say I’ve ever wanted for myself. But at this point almost all the pureblood lines are inter-related in some way because we are down to so few. Even Potter and I were connected through Charlus Potter and Dorea Black.” 

“I suppose that makes sense,” Hermione agreed though she still found pureblood relations to be rather untoward. She bit back the sudden nostalgia at the thought of Harry. Did they realize she was gone?  

Malfoy fell silent, turning back to his research and Hermione followed suit, her original question forgotten until the blond looked back up some minutes later. 

“Granger,” he said flatly and she looked up. “I’ll go to the Solstice Ball with you.” 

“Thanks,” Hermione breathed in relief. She smiled. “You might even enjoy yourself.” 

Malfoy stared at her for a long moment then smirked. “I’m sure I will.”

=

Hermione glanced across the table at her pale companion some time later, nervously worrying her lip. Feeling her gaze he looked up, fixing her with a petulant stare. Hurriedly, Hermione looked away and she could practically hear his eyes roll. 

But the thoughts playing at her mind wouldn’t desist and she found herself watching him again. Finally he huffed and looked up from his book again. 

“ _ What _ ?” he exclaimed, irritated. 

Wide-eyed she stared at him for a moment. “You’ve changed, Malfoy.” 

“How astute of you to notice, Granger,” he said, returning to his page. “And you’re correct. But did you expect me to wear the same clothes every day?” 

Hermione huffed, shaking her head unwittingly at his seemingly omniscient sarcasm. 

“You’re going to have to elaborate, Granger,” he continued, raising an eyebrow but continuing on with his reading. 

“I just mean to say that, well… you haven’t been an arse lately.” 

Malfoy actually laughed then hastily looked around the library. The librarian was nowhere to be seen. 

“I told you I was going to make an effort to get along with you while we try to sort out this mess, Granger,” he murmured. “It’s been easier that way.” 

Hermione swallowed the dismay at the implied suggestion that their truce was temporary. For some reason the thought bothered her more than it should have, that he might simply return to the way he had been when they managed to get home. 

“It just seems like more than that,” Hermione admitted, her gaze flickering to his. “At the feast, it looked like you were actually enjoying yourself.” 

“Well I was,” he said, brows knitted together. He hesitated for a moment. “I admit, Granger, it’s an incredible relief that no one here knows who I am. I don’t have to go on every day, ignoring the stares and the comments because of my family and my past… it’s oddly liberating. No one knows what this means.” He brandished his covered arm. He glanced at her, his expression softening. “And no one expects us to hate one another.”

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, considering his words, ignoring the brief flutter in her stomach at the last thing he had said. 

“I know what you mean,” she said after a pause. “There is a certain freedom in being here, where no one knows anything about us.” 

Hermione suddenly jumped in her seat as Salazar Slytherin swooped in on them from seemingly out of nowhere. Even Malfoy flinched, his eyes wide as Hermione clutched at her chest. 

“Hello, Professor,” she gasped. 

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed but this is a library,” Slytherin said pointedly, staring unblinkingly between the two of them with dark eyes. 

“Our apologies, Professor,” Malfoy quipped to his head of house, “we are here studying.” 

“It did not seem so,” Salazar said in a low voice. “And what are you studying?” The man reached a slender hand out, turning one of the books on time to face him. “ _ Dimensions of the Temporal Space.  _ This does not sound like standard Hogwarts reading material. What sort of studying is this?” 

Hermione found she could not meet Slytherin’s intense gaze, staring at Malfoy instead. 

“Extra credit, Professor,” Malfoy said coolly. “We are trying to decipher an old runic passage about the fabric of time.” 

“Fascinating that you have time for extra credit projects, Mr Malfoy,” Slytherin returned in the same tone. “Perhaps your course load is not enough. One would think as NEWT students that might be your focus.” 

“NEWTs are our main priority of course,” Hermione broke in quickly. The last thing they needed was for Slytherin to assign more homework. 

“Indeed,” Slytherin commented. “Of course, you both excel in NEWT potions, so I need not worry.” 

Hermione flushed at the compliment while Malfoy continued to stare at the professor passively, his expression blank. Slytherin gazed at them each for a long moment before silently scanning their other reading materials. 

“Carry on, then,” the founder said, with a nod. “Though I will expect your performance in my class to maintain a high level of excellence, both of you. Mr Malfoy, please see me before your potions class begins tomorrow.”

“Yes, Professor,” Malfoy responded as the man gracefully loped off. The blond turned to Hermione, frowning. “We really ought to find somewhere else to work.” 

“I agree,” Hermione said in a hushed voice. “We’re drawing unnecessary attention to ourselves.” 

Malfoy sighed, looking around the vast library, assorted tomes, scrolls and scripts piled high on every shelf. “If only there was a way to ask for exactly what we need.” 

Hermione nodded, about to reply when she suddenly froze. “Malfoy.” Her eyes widened as he focused on her once more. “What if we tried the Room of Requirement?” 

“What is that?” he asked, brow furrowed. 

“It’s, well…” Hermione hesitated as she was seized with a particular memory of fire. She could almost feel the scorching tendrils of the Fiendfyre that had nearly claimed both of their lives. “It’s also known as the Room of Hidden Things.”

Instantly Malfoy’s expression went stony and his jaw clenched. “I would rather not.” 

“When it serves as the Room of Requirement,” Hermione said carefully, “you simply ask it for what you need and the room provides it. What if it could somehow give us answers or information that might help?” 

“Fine,” Malfoy clipped, “but it’s late. We’ll try tomorrow after dinner.” 

“Fair enough,” Hermione said. “If nothing else, it may provide us with a more private workspace.” 

Malfoy grunted a sort of irritated acquiescence and Hermione smiled to herself. 

=

Malfoy was working on an assignment near the end of the Slytherin table the next morning at breakfast, distractedly chewing a slice of toast, as Hermione and Helena walked past. 

He looked up as they passed, offering a tilt of the head in greeting. 

Suddenly Helena paused, her face lighting up.

“Bonjour, Draco!” she exclaimed, smiling. 

Hermione’s eyes widened, her eyebrows shooting towards her hairline in terror with the sudden remembrance that she had told Helena that Malfoy was French and subsequently forgot to warn the blond. Malfoy met her gaze with a raised eyebrow and seemed to understand for he smirked, turning back to Helena. 

“Bonjour, Helena,” he responded, setting down his quill, “comment ça va, aujourd’hui?”

“ Ça va trés bien, et toi?” Helena replied, looking unsure. “Oui?”

“Oui,” Malfoy said with a gracious nod. “ Ça va bien, merci.” 

Helena smiled, looking pleased with herself.

Hermione sagged in relief. While she knew enough French to understand the conversation, there was an ease with which the way the words rolled off his tongue, the way he had easily slipped into perfectly accented French, that assuaged her concerns, and if she was honest, made her stomach flop.

But when he looked at her and rolled his eyes in amusement, Hermione cast him a fake smile and the two girls carried on.  

=

As arranged, Hermione met up with Malfoy following dinner. They walked in a sort of nervous silence to the seventh floor and Hermione hesitated in front of the blank stretch of wall. 

“What if it isn’t here? If it isn’t built yet?” she breathed. 

“Then we leave,” Malfoy stated blandly. Hermione shot him a look but sighed.

“I’m not entirely sure what to ask it for. Information on how to return home? A place where we can find answers?” she questioned softly, more to herself than anything. 

“I only know it as the Room of Hidden Things,” he replied with a deep breath. “Has it always been both?”

“It’s whatever you ask of it. Okay,” Hermione clenched her jaw and paced the appropriate stretch of wall, thinking desperately to herself. 

When a large, intricately ornamented door appeared, Hermione looked to Malfoy with trepidation but he had already stepped forward and opened the door. With a glance down the length of the corridor, Hermione followed him inside. 

Almost instantly her breath hitched in her throat. 

An elaborate room stretched before her, with vaulted ceilings and high windows. Assorted shelves stood, heaped in scrolls and tomes. Empty ink wells and quills were haphazardly strewn about one of the shelves. 

Piles of other assorted items sat randomly on the floor; glass vials and potions ingredients and various oddments of which Hermione did not know the purpose. 

“It’s like the Room of Hidden Things without a thousand years of junk built up,” Malfoy observed. 

“Do you suppose that’s all it was, at first? Remember that Rowena designed the Hogwarts floor plan,” Hermione commented thoughtfully, running her fingers along an old stone workbench. 

“What if she didn’t share this room with the others? What if people only came to know about it by stumbling upon it over the years?” Malfoy asked quietly. 

“So what, only she could use it? Ravenclaw’s version of the Chamber of Secrets?”

Malfoy shrugged, looking as confused as Hermione felt. A cold doubt crept into her heart.

“Malfoy, I haven’t given the Chamber of Secrets any thought,” Hermione said, looking at him. “Do you suppose we could find it and somehow – I don’t know, prevent the Basilisk from –” 

“We can’t affect significant change on the future, Granger, remember?” he cut her off. “Travelling via the portal ensured that. We can’t, I don’t know…  _ save _ Myrtle from her fate.” 

Hermione heard loud and clear what he didn’t say. That they also couldn’t save Helena or Waldo either. Swallowing the bitter thought, she gently lifted a stack of parchment off one of the shelves. 

“So you suppose these are Ravenclaw’s then?” Hermione asked. 

“It’s possible,” Malfoy said with a shrug. “Or maybe all of the founders work in here. It was only a guess.”

Flipping through the stack of parchment, Hermione noted that much of it looked like old letters, saved for nostalgic purposes or otherwise. Towards the bottom of the pile, however, a sense of anticipation gripped her. 

“Malfoy,” she breathed, “these are encoded in runes.” 

He walked over with interest, clutching something that looked sort of like a small, blue Quaffle with antennae. 

“Why didn’t you bring your copy of  _ Spellman’s Syllabary  _ with us into the past, Granger?” he asked, mockingly reminding her of how she had earlier wished she had brought  _ Hogwarts: A History _ with her. Hermione blinked at his casual teasing.

“I really ought to start carrying shrunken copies of all my books that could possibly be relevant at any given point in time. Which would be all of them,” she returned with a wry smile, eliciting a true laugh from the blond. 

“Certainly, you ought to,” he said with a grin, nudging her on the shoulder. Hermione felt a shiver at the sudden and playful contact. She shook it off as he stared at the runic inscriptions, sitting down at the workbench, deep in thought. 

Suddenly he drew parchment and a quill from his bag, scratching absently. 

“Can you interpret them?” Hermione asked in surprise, pulling up a seat that had instantly appeared next to him.

“Some of them,” he admitted, chewing the end of his quill. “I told you, weeks ago, Runes is one of my favourite classes. And Ancient Runes - as the name suggests, are ancient. Far older than a thousand years. I’m hopeful not much has changed in the translations.” 

Hermione began on a sheet of the inscription of her own, but found she had always relied quite heavily on her  _ Syllabary _ and knew less than a quarter of the runes by heart. 

“There’s a terrible sense of irony here,” Malfoy began, with an indelicate snort, “given that just yesterday we told Slytherin we were researching a runic translation on time manipulation.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she laughed despite herself.

“I’ll have to come back to it with my translation materials,” he said thoughtfully, setting down his quill. He made a copy of the runic text, tucking it safely into his bag. “Many of these I don’t recognize at all.”

“To be fair, we don’t even know if this has anything to do with what we’re looking for,” Hermione reminded him. 

“You’re right, we don’t,” he said with a glance over at her. “But if you were researching something that had never been done before, don’t you think you would keep it private?”

“I probably would,” Hermione permitted. “But then couldn’t anyone with a runes translator still read this?”

“If they found it,” he shrugged. “That _ is _ what’s worrying me, though. So far this makes absolutely no sense but I’m missing many of these runes. I can’t help but wonder if it’s not only runic, but also in code.” 

“As a failsafe,” Hermione breathed. “Or it’s meant to be read in a different arrangement? Without knowing that, how will we ever read it?” 

Malfoy gazed at her, trepidation visible in his expression.

“We have to try, between the two of us, to outsmart the most brilliant witch who ever lived.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks as always to everyone who has taken the time to review, follow or otherwise silently read this story. It really means so much that you follow my vision for this piece.
> 
> I may have accidentally read the entire A Court of Thorns and Roses series in ten days, and this chapter is a bit later than I meant to post it. As a result, I have been unable to respond to each review from last chapter personally. I do hope you accept my heartfelt gratitude, and this chapter which would otherwise not be published until tomorrow.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

 

The pair had spent the following weeks attempting to decipher the copied stack of notes they had stumbled across in the Room of Requirement, working on it almost every day when they found time between assignments. They had been able to translate the bulk of the runes, though some of them were wholly unfamiliar, and what they _ had _ translated made little sense, proving their theory that the runes were further coded.

It was well into November and winter had thoroughly taken over Hogwarts Castle and the grounds. Blowing snow had piled up around the doors, coming through the open windows overlooking the courtyard and Hermione found herself constantly cold to the bone. 

More than once Hermione had had to stop herself from thinking too heavily on how things were back in 1999 where they had departed from. When they had stumbled upon the portal it had been mid-January which would make it now late March.  _ If _ they even made it back in time, Hermione would be extremely behind in her NEWT exam preparations.

Hermione cautiously entered the Room of Requirement one evening after dinner and Malfoy was already working. He looked up as the fireplace behind him roared to life when Hermione neared, shivering faintly as she rubbed her hands together. 

“Anything new?” Hermione asked as she sat down across from him and pulled her own notes from her bag. 

“Not necessarily,” Malfoy said, chewing absently on the end of his quill. Hermione suspected he was fond of Sugar Quills. “This common rune that we keep seeing,” he pointed it out and Hermione nodded, “I found an extremely old scroll that mentions it.” 

He unrolled the scroll, showing it to Hermione. 

“It seems to reference something  _ lost _ or…  _ misplaced _ , maybe. Though the context in our translation here may be different, it sort of fits.” 

“Misplaced,” Hermione breathed, curious. “As in a human in a different time?” 

“Maybe,” Malfoy said with a shrug, “we still don’t even know if what we’re deciphering has anything to do with the portal since we can’t read the damn thing.” 

“We have to go on faith,” she said blandly, though felt rather unsure of it. “ _ If _ Ravenclaw was the only one who knew about this room, I can only imagine she would have kept her most secretive and important research private.” 

“Right,” he murmured absently. “If only we could figure out the code to reading this. I’m going to try re-ordering the runes we’ve translated and see if I can make any sense of it. Backwards, or… I don’t know, vertically?”

“It’s possible,” Hermione responded. She didn’t want to voice the doubt that he probably also shared: that it wouldn’t be so simple. “It’s as good a place as any to start.” 

“Yes,” he said with a grimace. “At least, maybe I’ll find a pattern or… something.” He glanced across the table at her work. “Potions?” 

“Potions,” Hermione agreed with a sigh. “I’ve got to complete this essay on the properties of aconite.” 

He gave a noncommittal shrug. They had taken to doing their homework together too; while one worked on the runes, the other would complete their assignments. 

Hermione had grown to envy the ease with which Malfoy rendered his thoughts on parchment. It seemed he could write an essay in half the time she could and it would be just as well written. So she often found herself still working on her projects while he had time to analyze the runes. 

They had agreed that while their top priority would be to find a way to return home, it would be a cumbersome experience to spend a prolonged length of time in this period without trying their best in their classes, given how high the expectations of the founders and other professors were.

“It took a lot of restraint to write about aconite without including anything about the Wolfsbane potion,” Malfoy stated conversationally some minutes later. 

“Right?” Hermione asked. “I find I’m constantly censoring my assignments to exclude relevant information which came about later on.”

“It’s complicated,” he agreed, his gaze still fixated on his translations as they fell into a comfortable silence as usual.

=

“Malfoy, can I ask you something?” Hermione asked some time later, glancing up at him from her essay. He shrugged absently without looking up, quill flying across his own work. “If you really feel that way about how things went with the war, why have you spent all year ignoring my attempts to start fresh? Before we came here, I mean.” 

He stopped writing, set his quill gently down and then looked at her. He tilted his head, a frown etched on his features. 

“I don’t know, Granger,” he said, hesitating, “I guess it just seemed easier that way.”

“Easier?” Hermione made a face. “In what way?” 

“In the way that I was returning to a place where I had made some extremely questionable decisions and performed some horrific tasks.” He glanced at her. “It’s not as if I’ve been accepted by either side since the war, you know. There are still those out there who are loyal to the Dark Lord even in death, and see my family as traitors. The only person who’s stood by me was Theo, since he understood more than anyone.” 

He sighed, leaning back in his seat. “You wouldn’t believe how many people wanted to see me rot in Azkaban, Granger. No one cared to hear the circumstances, either, whether or not I had any choice in the matter. I was extremely fortunate to have been given Hogwarts as an alternative.” 

Hermione stayed silent for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully on the end of her quill. 

“I guess I’ve never thought of it in that way,” she said finally, glancing at him. 

“Look at it like this, Granger,” he said, gesturing with a hand. “Almost everything I was raised to believe, from  _ birth _ , about Muggles and Muggle-borns has been torn to shreds. There came a time where I could no longer turn a blind eye to what was really going on but by then there was  _ no _ turning back. There’s a massive fucking disconnect between being told by a parent that a Muggle-born couldn’t possibly be the brightest student of the year, and  _ watching  _ Muggle-borns tortured, raped and murdered for no reason other than their blood status.”

He ran a hand through his hair as Hermione felt a chill run the length of her spine at his words. 

“I realize I was an arse and a bigot and pretty fucking terrible to you and your friends,” he continued, “but not once did I ever think it made sense to feed a living person to a snake for their beliefs, you know?” 

“I hear you,” Hermione replied and it came out as a whisper. 

“I wish I could take it all back,” he murmured, gazing at her. “But how was I to know, growing up, where it would all lead? I respected my father and followed him blindly because of it - and look how that worked out.” He shrugged, exhaling a deep breath. “So all I can do now is to try and rebuild my life, and follow a different path.” 

“I respect you for that,” Hermione said softly, leaning in towards him. “Truly, I do, Malfoy.” 

“I appreciate that,” he replied with a tight smile. “So when I say it’s simply easier to keep to myself and try to move on, hopefully now you understand.” 

“I understand,” she breathed, “and thank you for telling me.” 

Almost of its own accord, and before Hermione could think twice, her hand moved forward to rest on his. He stared at her hand on his, momentarily, his eyes widening slightly. Embarrassed, Hermione drew her hand back but he caught it, lightly squeezing her fingers. In reassurance, or thanks – or something; Hermione wasn’t sure. 

He held onto her hand for an extended beat, as if undecided what to do with it. His eyes met hers and Hermione suddenly forgot to breathe; she hadn’t expected a simple touch to feel so significant. He grazed the back of her hand with his thumb, softly, before releasing it to the table. 

Hermione turned back to her essay, willing her heart to slow and the heat to fade from her cheeks. Her physical reaction had been wholly unexpected and she hoped he hadn’t noticed. 

But if he had, he chose not to mention it, for within moments he too was back to his work. 

=

“Hermione?” Helena asked over lunch one day. Hermione glanced over, shaking off the train of thought that had been plaguing her. “Where have you been lately? We almost never see you between dinner and curfew.” 

“Oh, just the library,” Hermione said dismissively. 

“I never see you at the library,” Helena said, her bright eyes focused. “I’ve been there almost every night this week with Tania and Pollux, and we haven’t seen you.” Helena paused, a smile slipping to her face. “ _ Or _ Draco Malfoy.” 

The thought suddenly crept in that misleading Helena and the other Ravenclaws, who were exceptionally clever and observant, wouldn’t be like misleading Harry and Ron. 

“We must have just missed one another,” Hermione mused, allowing a relaxed smile to slip onto her face. Or rather, one she hoped looked relaxed rather than forced. “Malfoy and I tend to work in the back where it’s quietest.

“Quietest? Or most secluded?” Helena asked, her eyebrows flickering in amusement. “Perhaps I should stop looking – perhaps you two choose to work where you won’t be bothered.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes but felt a brief clench in her stomach. “There is nothing between us, if that’s what you’re implying.” 

“Fine,” Helena said lightly, though her eyes remained alight. “Of course there isn’t.”

Hermione set her jaw with a stiff nod. Out of her periphery she noticed that distinctive flash of platinum blond and refused to look his way. 

“If it bothers you, I’ll make a point of studying with you more,” Hermione said with a brief smile. 

“I am not bothered, Hermione. He was your friend long before you and I ever met.” Helena fixed Hermione with a thoughtful stare. “There is no harm in following your heart, you know. Provided you are both not yet promised to another, of course.” 

“We aren’t,” Hermione quickly assured her, then shook her head. “Even if we were, it’s irrelevant. He and I have no interest in courting one another.” 

“Okay,” Helena agreed, that amused smile still resting on her features. “But considering he has no interest in you, he most certainly watches you a lot. For instance, he has been watching our entire conversation.”  

Hermione flushed and rummaged in her bag to avoid looking his way. “I cannot say why he would do that.” 

Helena stared at the brunette for a moment longer and then seemed to let it go. “Then perhaps you  _ would  _ like to join us in the library tonight. We can work on that Ancient Runes project?” 

“Sounds wonderful,” Hermione said, taking a last bite of her lunch. She nearly laughed at the irony, given her and Malfoy were working on an Ancient Runes project of a far different sort. 

As they rose to walk to their next class, Hermione briefly caught Malfoy’s questioning glance. She subtly shook her head, mouthing ‘later’ and he shrugged, walking to his own class in a different direction. She ignored the twinge in her stomach as he was joined by a couple of seventh year Slytherin girls who made a show of tossing their hair and batting their eyes. 

“Ignore them,” Helena said with a touch to Hermione’s arm and she realized she’d been staring. “Those girls are as bland and uninteresting as can be.” Hermione turned to her friend, ready to retort when she hesitated at the look on Helena’s face. “And he doesn’t look at them like he does you.” 

The denial Hermione was about to express fell off the tip of her tongue and she turned back to Helena. She was certain Helena was seeing something that wasn’t there; the volatile history between her and Malfoy must have come off as a measure of interest. At any rate, there was no way  _ he _ would ever look at her in such a way as Helena was implying. 

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Hermione said after a moment. 

“They’ll just be hoping he asks one of them to accompany him to the Solstice Ball,” Helena said, rolling her eyes. “The girls in the upper classes always lose their brains at this time of year.” 

“Are you going with someone?” Hermione asked out of curiosity. Too late, she wished she hadn’t asked.

“Pollux,” Helena said, nodding. Hermione glanced to the dark blond-haired Ravenclaw further ahead in the corridor. Then Helena hastened to say, “as friends, though. Heath is going with Tania.”  

“I see,” Hermione replied demurely, hoping Helena wouldn’t ask her in return. 

“And you?” Helena asked, turning to Hermione as they walked. 

“Malcolm asked me,” Hermione admitted and Helena snorted. “But I told him I was already going with someone.” 

“Good,” Helena said, amused. “Malcolm is nice enough but if you accompanied him to the ball he would never let up.” The girl stared at Hermione for another moment. “You told him you were going with Draco, didn’t you?” 

Hermione nodded and made a face. “He assumed it and I didn’t correct him.” 

“And now you have to ask Draco to go with you,” Helena mused. At the look on Hermione’s face, Helena laughed. “You’ve already asked him.” 

“He agreed to it,” Hermione said, chewing her lower lip nervously. “But only as friends.” 

“Then those Slytherin girls are only wasting their time,” Helena said, grinning. Despite herself, Hermione smiled in return. 

=

Hermione slid into her usual seat beside Malfoy in Defence Against the Dark Arts the following day. He was hastily scribbling something on a sheet of parchment and spared her a sidelong glance. His jaw clenched but he didn’t look up. 

“You didn’t come to the Room yesterday,” he murmured, his tone somewhat icy. 

“No,” Hermione responded softly. “Helena asked me to study with them in the library. I didn’t see you to tell you.” 

“Oh,” he replied, a certain aristocratic sting behind his words she hadn’t heard in awhile. “I merely – wondered – whether you were going to come.” 

“Don’t tell me you were worried,” Hermione teased, attempting to ignore his tone. 

“Of course not,” he replied haughtily but he finally looked up and his shoulders relaxed. “It can be a strange time and place, is all. We ought to stick together.” 

“We spend almost every evening working together,” Hermione said, confusion furrowing her brows. 

Just then Gryffindor walked in and the room fell silent as he began with a lecture. Hermione anxiously spread her materials on the work space in front of her, having been distracted when she’d arrived. 

Malfoy casually slid a sheet of parchment in front of her with one impeccably manicured finger. Hermione glanced down at it, as she lifted her quill to begin taking notes. 

_ None of the potential code solutions I’ve attempted have had any success. I’ll have to return to the library this evening to see if I can find anything that might suggest a way to decipher it.  _

Hermione fixed her attention on Godric Gryffindor once more, nodding appropriately at his lecture on Gytrashes. Her eyes flickered back to the sheet of parchment as she responded. 

_ I’ll come. It seems our absence from the library has been noted when we have claimed to be there. Perhaps we should spend less time in the Room and more time in the library.  _

He met her gaze for a moment and nodded subtly. 

_ Fine, but only when we’re doing schoolwork. I would like to keep our work on the runes as private as possible.  _

_ Agreed _ , Hermione wrote,  _ though we can search for ways we might decode the runes while we are there too. We can disillusion the materials if need be. _

Malfoy carefully slid the sheet back into his stack of parchment for taking notes. Gryffindor glanced to the two of them and Hermione swallowed, her attention fixed firmly on the professor. A minute later the parchment landed in front of her again. 

_ That’s fine. Are you going into the village this weekend? _

They had learned that Hogsmeade village, while newly established and mostly residential, did have a small handful of shops and a pub that the students liked to frequent. Though a small, curious part of her wanted to see what the village was like a thousand years ago, the more urgent part wanted to find a way home.

_ Probably not. No money. _

_ Neither. We could use the day to hopefully make some progress.  _

Hermione hesitated as a number of students moved around into partners as requested by Gryffindor. Malfoy quickly caught her gaze and she nodded. She scrawled a response in the brief clamour. 

_ Okay.  _ She paused before continuing.  _ Don’t tell me you were actually worried yesterday? _

He gave her a pointed look and a haughty roll of the eyes but did not deign to respond. Hermione stifled a laugh and they began with their spellwork for the rest of the lesson. 

=

They met, as arranged, at the library that evening. They made a point to set up at a table in the back, where they had claimed to be working all along, in case anyone happened to come by. 

Although the amount of time they spent working at the table was negligible in comparison to the time spent digging through old resources, scouring the shelves for any hint of how one might interpret coded runes created by a brilliant witch. 

Hermione didn’t want to voice the suspicion that it was unlikely they would find a way to decode the runes on a shelf, as if it were so cut and dry. Even the mere thought of expressing doubt in her beloved Hogwarts library made her uncomfortable. But she was certain Malfoy probably realized the same as he pored silently over the resources but did not take any back to the table. 

“I guess what I’m looking for,” he said finally, jaw twitching in frustration, “is something that would have been  _ significant _ enough to her, something important or relevant enough to use as a basis for coding the notes.” 

He ran a hand through his pale hair, already disheveled from the presumed futility of their search.

“I think I understand what you mean,” Hermione responded, her own eyes stinging from the hours of reading. 

“They have these… traditions,” he said, pondering over his words, “that they so value. Like how they celebrate the changing of the seasons. It feels… archaic, to us, from a thousand years in the future. But it speaks of old magic and the old ways. When the earliest forms of magic came from within the Earth. Am I making any sense?” 

“I think so,” Hermione said, biting her lip. These were topics he knew so much more about than she did. “You think something like that might be worked into the code?”

“Related, somehow,” Malfoy said, looking deep in thought. “I just have to wonder what else might be significant enough. She doesn’t strike me as the type of woman to use something random or nonsensical as a code. Not in going to the lengths she has to keep it private.” 

“Unless it  _ is _ nonsensical so no one else could ever interpret it at all,” Hermione said quietly. 

He looked disgruntled, pained almost, at the thought. 

“I have to believe she had a purpose for it,” he said, his voice soft. After a moment, Hermione nodded at his conviction. 

“She probably did,” Hermione agreed. “And we will find it.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you, thank you as always, to everyone who has taken the time to read, review, follow or favourite this fic. I'm really enjoying writing it so it's lovely to know that people are enjoying reading it as well. Reviews always make my day, so I'd love to hear what you think xoxo
> 
> I'm making a point of using my tumblr more often, so find me there at indreamsink :)
> 
> Also, some of my lovely AO3 readers wanted to see jealous!Draco and I couldn't quite help myself :-)
> 
> Special thanks to La Belladone x and her lovely Irish thoughts.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Hermione awoke and prepared for her day the following Saturday in a lazy, absent-minded fashion. The majority of the students would be going into Hogsmeade, but given that she and Malfoy had no money – he had spent all he had to secure their class materials – they had opted for a full, uninterrupted day of research.

"Are you sure you don't want to see the village, Hermione?" Helena was asking as she wrapped herself in a thick cloak after breakfast. "It's really quite nice."

Hermione slung her bag over her shoulders and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly in the crisp air.

"I'll see it next time, I'm sure," Hermione said with a smile. "Go on without me."

"You just want to spend the day with Draco," Helena said with a wave of her hand, her eyes alight. "He can wait, walk down with me at least."

"Sure," Hermione conceded, falling into step with the other girl as they walked down to the Entrance Hall together.

Malfoy, as it turned out, was already there, talking with Waldo Baron and a couple of the other seventh year Slytherins. He glanced up as Hermione and Helena approached. Following his gaze, Baron sneered at Helena who rolled her eyes.

Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were monitoring the students as they left the castle, noting their names on a ledger. The group of Slytherins Malfoy was talking to turned and made their way to the doors, all but ignoring the two professors.

Malfoy drifted over to where Hermione still stood with Helena, hands shoved into his pockets in an effort to combat the crisp air.

"I keep telling Hermione she should come see the village," Helena announced to him as he joined them. "You could come with us too, if you like."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows at Hermione, a silent question coupled with a shrug.

"We have quite a lot of work to get through," he said softly.

"Right," Hermione said with a furtive glance to the blond. "It'll be nice to have some quiet in the library."

Helena looked between the two of them, her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. Hermione cursed herself for the poorly contrived line; the library was almost always silent due to the seemingly omniscient librarian.

Helena's shoulders relaxed as she failed to hold back a smile. " _Right_ , quiet in the library. Well, you two enjoy yourselves."

Malfoy's eyebrows nearly flew into his hair and Hermione shot Helena a dirty look at the implied suggestion in her tone. Before she could respond Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw walked over and Hermione's mouth instantly snapped shut.

"Going into the village?" Hufflepuff asked, a wide grin on her face. Ravenclaw eyed the three of them standing there together and smiled as well, her clever eyes sharp.

"I am," Helena said quickly and turned to Hermione. "Good-bye!"

Hufflepuff marked Helena on her list as the girl walked away. "You really ought to see the village," she said admonishingly to the two students remaining.

"We have a lot of work to catch up on," Malfoy said smoothly.

"Why not take a few hours off from work, it is Saturday after all," Ravenclaw said crisply, finally speaking. Hermione felt a shiver creep down her spine at the thought that they had been working in what was presumably Ravenclaw's own private space. "What could you possibly be working on that is so important?"

But the way those eyes met Hermione's, as if seeing through her, caused Hermione to let loose a sharp intake of breath. Out of her periphery Hermione saw Malfoy glance at her but she didn't dare look away from Ravenclaw's keen, penetrating gaze.

"Divination," Hermione breathed after a beat. "And transfiguration."

"Nonsense," Hufflepuff exclaimed, as if missing the heavy tension that had settled over the small group.

Could Ravenclaw know? They had been extremely diligent to leave everything as it was, each time they visited the Room of Requirement. But had Ravenclaw perhaps warded the Room or her papers? They had only ever worked off of Malfoy's copied version of the runes, and hadn't touched Ravenclaw's since that time they had first found them.

Hermione nearly flinched as Ravenclaw's glance slid to Malfoy. His expression betrayed nothing as he turned to Hermione a moment later.

"You know what? Perhaps we should take in the village," he announced. "Get some fresh air."

Ravenclaw looked away after another breath with a nod. "Very well."

Hufflepuff wrote their names on her list with a relaxed smile. "Be sure you stop by for a drink at the pub," she said, "for your first visit, it's on me!"

Malfoy glanced to Hermione. It was as if Hufflepuff had known they had no money.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said graciously, "we appreciate it."

"Not too many, mind you," Hufflepuff carried on. "We don't need students returning to the school inebriated, after all." The woman chuckled at her own joke and Hermione smiled obligingly.

Ravenclaw smiled as well though it seemed absent and without feeling. Hermione wondered whether Ravenclaw did truly suspect they were up to something, and if they had played into those suspicions with their adamance in remaining at the castle.

"Enjoy yourselves," she said, her tone even, as the two professors turned and walked away.

Hermione turned to Malfoy with a grimace as they suddenly found themselves with no option but to make the trek into Hogsmeade village, laden with books and without cloaks or scarves.

"Give me your bag, I can drop it off at the dungeons," Malfoy murmured and Hermione, surprised, did as he asked. "It's a lot closer than Ravenclaw Tower."

Hermione waited at the Entrance Hall as within a few minutes, he had returned. Eyes alight with amusement and a smirk curving his lips, he handed Hermione a Slytherin scarf.

"Thought you might get cold," he said simply. Hermione stared at the offering, her eyes narrowed petulantly.

"I would rather be cold," she said, crisper than intended. Malfoy merely laughed and wrapped the silver and green scarf around his own neck, head inclined with humour.

"Let's go, then," he said.

Almost instantly Hermione wished she had shelved her pride and accepted the scarf; while the air was chilly, the wind made it downright cold. It was also snowing lightly, and by the time they arrived at the village, she was shivering in only her jumper, icy fingers wrapped around her arms.

"Good thing I've got this scarf," Malfoy said conversationally as they walked down the high street, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, "I imagine I'd have been very cold without it."

Hermione shot him a glare, her teeth chattering.

Suddenly Malfoy stopped, gaping. "Can you believe this has been here for so long?"

For they had arrived at the Three Broomsticks, looking almost exactly as it did a thousand years later.

Hermione exhaled in relief and all but ran through the familiar doors of the pub, anxious for a reprieve from the cold winds. Once inside, however, she realized her Ravenclaw friends were seated at a large table across the room, cradling hot drinks of their own.

She slid into a booth near the door, guessing precisely what Helena would say about Hermione claiming she wasn't going to the village, and then showing up with Malfoy instead.

Hermione still shook slightly as Malfoy rolled his eyes, and with a grin, removed his Slytherin scarf and threw it at her.

"I'll get us a drink," he said and walked toward the bar. Hermione glared at the green and silver scarf and then carefully wrapped her frozen hands within it.

When he returned a few minutes later, sliding a foaming tankard of hot Butterbeer across the table to Hermione, he smirked but chose not to say anything about her usage of his scarf.

"Butterbeer," Hermione gasped, awkwardly tipping the drink towards her face with her wrapped hands.

"Some things don't change, I guess," Malfoy said, even as he grimaced and looked around the pub. He casually cast a  _Muffliato_  on the table and turned to Hermione, sipping his own hot beverage. "So  _that_  was uncomfortable."

Hermione knew instantly to what he referred. "Do you think she suspects we've found her notes?"

"The impression I got was that she suspects something is off," Malfoy said, his eyes still roving the pub. "But she didn't think it had anything to do with us until we said we would rather do work than go to the village."

"Which is why we came here instead," Hermione surmised.

"Exactly," he said. "If we had continued to refuse, we would have likely raised a red flag."

"She is far more brilliant than even the legends suggest," Hermione admitted, unraveling her hands which were now sufficiently warm. She was suddenly struck with a thought. "I forgot to tell you – it was before we found the runes – she knew I had lied about my blood status at the sorting."

Malfoy stared at her and raised a pale brow. "That would have been something worth bringing up earlier." He shook his head briefly. "But never mind that now; she's more than proven how smart she is. We will simply have to be more careful moving forward."

"Malfoy," Hermione began, thoughtful. "What if we… just told her?"

"I've considered it," he said, taking a long drink from his tankard. "Especially if the runes  _are_  in regards to the time portal she is going to develop. But what if it goes badly or she doesn't believe us? What if the notes aren't about the portal after all? We're stuck here for as long as it takes and we  _can't_  leave Hogwarts or we'll never get home."

"But if we told her," Hermione pressed, "she would know that she develops the portal in the end, wouldn't she?"

"Presumably," he replied shortly, "but we don't know when she completes the portal. We don't know  _why_  we were sent here; why us, why now? There are so many unknowns, I don't know that it's worth the risk." He paused, shadows dancing on his face. "Between the two of us, we have to figure it out eventually, right? If it turns out the runes  _are_  about the portal, then maybe it would make sense to approach her."

"That makes sense," Hermione conceded. "We'll wait, then. Until we figure out what the code is."

"I know it's crazy," Malfoy said after a long pause, running a hand through his light hair. "But I  _want_  to crack Ravenclaw's code. It's been driving me up the wall. Don't you?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted quietly. "As much as I want to get home, there's a certain fascination behind it all, isn't there?"

Malfoy gave her a crooked grin, his grey eyes meeting hers. Hermione suddenly remembered how he had almost sort of held her hand, a few days prior. A breath caught in her throat as she returned his gaze. His expression fell serious.

"That's why I'm glad it's you," he said quietly. He swallowed heavily and stared at her for a long moment more. "Don't you feel like this has changed everything?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but the words stumbled and tripped off her tongue and she merely stared at him, her brow furrowed and her mouth dry. She blinked, finding herself caught in those stormy eyes.

"Hermione!"

She tore her eyes from his, completely thrown off guard as she looked around the pub and noticed the table of her Ravenclaw friends looking at her, a couple of them waving. Her name, shouted, tore through the vaguely muffled din of the pub.

She turned back to Malfoy but he had looked away and was gazing around the pub, his expression carefully blank, his jaw clenched.

"I'll just... " she murmured, "I'll be back in a minute."

A flicker of his eyebrows was the only indication he had even heard her. Her stomach roiled uncomfortably as she walked over, wishing her friends had not chosen that exact moment to interrupt. Not when Malfoy was being so… sincere.

Hermione struggled to focus as she explained to Helena that they had decided to come to the village after all. Clearly her friends didn't know that they had interrupted a serious conversation – but as Pollux offered to move another chair over for her, ghosting a hand to her back, she found herself glancing back to her own table.

Malfoy was watching the Ravenclaw boy with narrowed eyes, absently sipping his Butterbeer. His eyes met hers for a brief moment before he frowned and looked away.

Swallowing, Hermione tried to pull away from the group of Ravenclaws. She met Helena's gaze imploringly, who offered only a wry smile in Malfoy's direction and waved her away.

Hermione eased back along her side of the table, but it seemed whatever honesty Malfoy had dredged up only minutes earlier was long gone.

"Sit with them if you like," he said sharply, "I don't care. I'm sure Waldo's around here somewhere."

"I'm sitting with you," she replied blandly. He only stared at her and slammed the last of his Butterbeer.

"You know," he said, setting the mug down gentler than Hermione would have anticipated based on his sudden shift in demeanour. "I realize you only wanted me to go to the Solstice Ball with you so Malcolm would leave you alone. I won't be offended if you wanted to retract your offer." His eyes flickered briefly to where Pollux still sat.

Hermione's brows flew into her hairline at his reaction. But his gaze was hard as it met hers.

"I have no interest in going to the ball with anyone else," she clipped. "And if you really care to know, Pollux is going with Helena. Although if  _you_  would rather ask someone else…" Hermione trailed off, hardly believing they were having this conversation.

"I wouldn't," he snapped, glaring at her. "I'm going with you."

"Fine," Hermione said, irritability creeping in. "Then can you let go of whatever this is?"

Malfoy didn't respond other than to look at her now empty glass. "Another?"

"Yes, please," she sniffed and Malfoy walked to the bar with their empty mugs. She didn't  _dare_  unpack what that had been.

* * *

Thankfully, whatever had crawled up Malfoy's arse seemed to have died there, for by the time they completed their second Butterbeer he was his usual aloof, relaxed self once more.

The wind and snow had let up slightly when they left the pub and they agreed to a small tour around the village to see what else, if anything, had remained from all those years ago.

She had ignored the wicked smirk that curved Malfoy's lips as she refused to return his scarf and instead wrapped it around her own throat. She was still a bit irritated with him for being snappy in the pub; she realized it was the first time he hadn't at least tried to be polite or reasonable since they had arrived.

But he seemed interested in ignoring the argument, or whatever it had been, and so Hermione was willing to let it go as well.

Like Helena had said, the village was mostly residential streets with small, rickety homes, many of which appeared to be bursting at the seams with magical renovations and Hermione felt a sudden sting of homesickness at the thought of the Burrow.

Further down the high street, however, there were several shops. None that Hermione or Malfoy recognized as still existing in 1999 but there was a clothier, a sweets shop, an apothecary and a small shop that sold quills and ink and parchment.

They browsed the shops, though they had no money, as a temporary respite from the cold.

Hermione could see in Malfoy's eyes that he wanted to try some of the unfamiliar sweets in the candy shop and she wished she had some money to gift him, given he had considered her when he had obtained their class materials. He said nothing on the subject.

They made only idle conversation as they walked, as if both wanting to steer clear of anything that might resurrect that conflict that had occurred in the pub.

Hermione was surprised to notice the sun begin to set; she hadn't quite realized how much time had passed as the two wandered aimlessly through the village and its shops.

They agreed to return to the castle before dinner so they wouldn't miss it, having eaten only breakfast.

Following dinner Malfoy retrieved their bags from the Slytherin common room where he had stowed them earlier and they went to the library to spend at least some time on their research. Neither even suggested they work in the Room of Requirement today.

Despite spending the entire day with Malfoy, Hermione found she wasn't anxious to part from him, even with their bizarre discussion at the pub. If Hermione didn't know any better she might have thought he had been jealous; though of course, she knew better, and for him to be jealous he would first have to care.

There was simply something calming in his presence, and it likely had to do with the fact that he was her only connection to home.

So although they made no headway on their research, as Hermione glanced at him, poring over a scroll by flickering candlelight, she didn't consider the day wasted at all.

* * *

"Oh, Granger, I nearly forgot," Malfoy said, turning to her in the corridor as they left the library. A teasing hint of a genuine smile was playing at the corners of his mouth.

"What is it?" she asked, turning to him with surprise and interest. He stared at her for a moment longer, his eyes sparkling.

He drew his wand, and with a flourish, a translucent white dragon emerged. It flew around the corridor for a moment, bathing the walls with a white spray of fire.

Hermione gaped for a moment in disbelief before she grinned, and without thinking, threw herself at him as easily as she would have done had it been Harry's accomplishment.

"You've done it!" she exclaimed, even as she realized what she had done.

In the painfully drawn out beat that followed, Hermione was suddenly all too aware of the hard planes of his body under her hands, the racing of his heart beneath her face.

Malfoy froze and tensed and Hermione, embarrassed, made to wrench herself away.

Until his arms came hesitantly around her shoulders, holding her in place against him. Hermione's eyes were wide as she laid her hands flat on his back.

Her breath caught as he casually rested his cheek atop her hair, and close to him as she was, she felt the stutter of his own exhalation. She melted into him unexpectedly, as if conforming to the hard lines of his chest and abdomen.

When he drew away another moment later, his fingers lingering on one of her loose curls, Hermione immediately looked away. She was positive she was flushed if the pounding of her heart against her ribcage was anything to go by.

"Right," he said finally, breaking the tense silence. "I'm quite proud of it."

With a start Hermione realized the Patronus dragon was still there, and altogether not even a minute had passed. She heard the words he didn't say: that he had achieved something his blood and his past suggested he never would. She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.

They jumped apart at the sound of footsteps, as if being found out in some sort of illicit activity.

It was Godric Gryffindor. He opened his mouth to speak before he visibly flinched at the sight of Malfoy's Patronus lingering for another moment before it dissolved.

"You have mastered your corporeal Patronus," Gryffindor said in surprise, turning to Malfoy.

"Yes, sir," Malfoy responded and if Hermione didn't know any better she might have thought he stood a little taller in the man's presence. "I've been working at it."

"Very well done, Mr Malfoy," Gryffindor said sharply with a nod. "It is a spell that most fully trained witches and wizards struggle to produce, which is why we did not linger overlong with it during our lessons. It shows great initiative that you continued to practice your spellwork. Twenty points to Slytherin."

"Thank you, Professor," Malfoy said with a gracious incline of the head.

"Both of you have provided exemplary work during your time at Hogwarts," Gryffindor carried on, turning to Hermione. "The other professors and I are pleased to have you here as students."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, fighting back the sudden urge to squeal at the compliment. Malfoy glanced at her with a subtle smirk, as if reading her thoughts.

With a nod, Gryffindor carried on down the corridor.

"Still a lion at heart, aren't you?" Malfoy asked, though not unkindly, as they neared the stairway that led them on their separate paths.

"Part lion, part eagle," Hermione responded, smiling. Malfoy laughed sharply.

"So literally, a griffin," he said with a grin, intentionally bumping into her side as they walked. Hermione laughed, the smile widening as he turned to her. "Goodnight, Granger."

"Goodnight, Malfoy," she returned softly as with a smirk, he turned away to the dungeons.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello! You all have seriously overwhelmed me with your response to the last chapter and to this fic in general. I feel incredibly honoured and humbled to have such amazing readers. I can't say how much it means to be able to read your thoughts and interact with you all.
> 
> When you get so into the storyline of a fic that you think the readers will be upset if a few chapters are Dramione focused - then you have to slap yourself because the readers want to see the Dramione develop :)
> 
> I wish you all a Merry Christmas, or a joyous holiday season, if and however you choose to celebrate.
> 
> Thanks as always to LaBelladone x for putting up with me.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

The chaos that ensued at Hogwarts over the following weeks as the winter solstice drew near reminded Hermione of her fourth year, when the Yule Ball had been held during the Triwizard Tournament. As Malfoy had said in Hogsmeade, it seemed some things indeed hadn't changed.

Girls suddenly seemed to travel the corridors in packs, while boys followed along, hoping to catch one alone.

And as the Solstice Ball grew nearer, Hermione found that several boys she had never even spoken to approached her, perhaps simply so they wouldn't have to face the shame of attending alone. She found she was very appreciative that Malfoy had agreed to go with her.

"It happens every year," Helena said dismissively when Hermione brought it up in the seventh year girls' dorm one weekend afternoon. "That's why those of us who are smart made our plans weeks ago. If you had not already arranged to go with Draco, I would have told you."

"It's very extreme," Hermione said. She couldn't imagine the mayhem that had been the Yule Ball every year. Although that had been in large part due to drama between her, Ron and Viktor. Not that she regretted it, because she and Viktor ended up being good friends after the fact.

She nearly cringed remembering Harry and Ron's sad attempts to find last minute dates, much like many of the students here.

"Have you a dress, Hermione?" Helena asked from where she was lounging on her bed.

"No," Hermione admitted, "I wasn't aware I would need one when I first came here. I was going to transfigure something."

"That will not do," Helena said, shaking her head. "Have you got money? I am certain my mother would give us permission to go into Hogsmeade for the afternoon."

"No money either," Hermione said, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks.

"Can you owl your parents to send you some?" Helena asked with genuine curiosity.

"My parents are very far away," Hermione breathed, unable to bring herself to look at Helena. Far as in across the world, a thousand years from now, with no knowledge of her continued existence.

Helena stared at Hermione for a long moment, as if understanding something was left unspoken.

"I am sorry about your parents, Hermione," Helena said quietly. "I am never far from my mother, so I cannot relate. But I never knew my father and I know what it is like to wonder."

"Thank you, Helena," Hermione said. She reached over and squeezed Helena's hand.

"You may borrow one of mine, then," Helena said with finality after a moment. "I have two here. My dress from last year will fit you. We can change the colour and no one will know."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes," Helena said with a wave of a hand. "You will look beautiful in it. Draco will be speechless."

With a flick of her wand, a full-length, intricately detailed gown came out from Helena's wardrobe. Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

It was a deep, royal blue, with fine stitching details on the bodice and skirts, and long sleeves that flared into wings to the floor.

"It's gorgeous," Hermione breathed. She approached the dress, blown away at the fine detail. Though she had never cared much for formal occasions, or wearing fancy dresses, she was suddenly just the slightest bit curious of what Malfoy would think.

"I think…" Helena trailed off, tapping her bed absently with her wand. She waved it with a flourish and the dress changed from royal blue to a bright, beautiful silver; the stitched details shimmered like starlight.

"Helena, it's perfect," Hermione murmured, running a hand over the fabric.

"I quite like the silver," the other girl said, "almost more than the blue. And you'll match Draco's eyes. Which he will not be able to take off of you."

Hermione averted her gaze, a flush rising to her cheeks, though she didn't remove her hand from the dress.

* * *

"Here's a thought," Malfoy began conversationally and Hermione lifted her head from an assignment warily. He continued on, ignoring her expression. "Everyone's going wild over this ball but so many of the seventh year students are already betrothed. So would they go to the ball with their intended or not?"

"I couldn't say," Hermione murmured, returning to her assignment. "I don't know of many Ravenclaw students who already have arranged marriages. Maybe it's just the fancy purebloods in Slytherin."

"Really?" Malfoy asked and Hermione sighed, setting down her quill with a short nod. "I guess I thought it was a general tenth century thing. But here's what I mean: Waldo Baron's intended is Cornelia Nott, right? They are going to the ball together, but as far as I know, they have no romantic interest in each other."

"Maybe it's just easier that way," Hermione mused, still only half involved in the conversation. "You and I are going together and  _we_  aren't romantically connected."

"Right," Malfoy drawled with a smirk. Hermione's eyes flickered briefly to his and she quickly looked away, embarrassed. "Maybe that's why."

"I suppose it's ultimately their prerogative if they choose to go together. Maybe it makes more sense to get familiar with each other now," Hermione said dismissively.

"I wonder how many girls lose good marriage arrangements on a night like the Solstice Ball," he murmured with humour, leaning back in his seat. Clearly, he was oblivious to the fact that Hermione was trying to work.

"What do you mean?" she asked, giving up on her assignment and staring at him petulantly.

"I mean that women in this time are expected to remain chaste and wholesome until marriage, especially in the wizarding world," he said with a smirk. "But here we are, sending them to a co-ed dance at a private school and expecting nothing to happen."

"They were probably raised to recognize the importance of it, then," Hermione said flippantly, fighting the flush threatening to appear in her cheeks. "And this isn't going to be some drunken, gyrating  _party_  where no one has any self-control."

"Obviously, Granger," he snorted. "I know plenty about these things. And, by the way, I know the old dances, so you're welcome."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I also know how many scandals were exposed or swept under the rug between old pureblood families due to children born out of wedlock in these days, or cancelled marriage arrangements," he carried on. "Many rivalries exist in our time because of things like that and no one even remembers how they originated."

"Do you like to hear yourself speak this much?" Hermione asked, brows raised mockingly.

"You don't wonder about these things?" he asked seriously, leaning in and lowering his voice, as if realizing they were still in the library. Thankfully the librarian had been unusually absent.

"Do I wonder about whether or not students are having sex in Hogwarts during the tenth century?" Hermione echoed, making a face. "I can't say it's something that's crossed my mind all that often."

"Really," he replied, eyebrows flickering with surprise. "It certainly doesn't seem as prevalent here as it does back home. You'd think half the students in our year were rabbits the way they go at it."

Hermione choked on a sharp intake of breath. Malfoy snickered at her reaction, amusement spreading across his face. The grin lingered, lighting up his attractive features as he turned to stare at her, his head tilted.

"I wouldn't know," she muttered. She must have looked uncomfortable because his smile faltered.

"Wait, Granger, don't tell me you're a virgin?" he asked. Hermione gave him a dirty look, horrified to feel the heat of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. She anxiously looked away. His eyes widened in surprise. "You  _are_?"

"I've had sex," she muttered, stubbornly avoiding his gaze. She wondered how the conversation had taken such a sudden and personal turn. "But just – only once."

"Just  _once_?" he asked, aghast. "Was Weasley that bad?"

Hermione glared at him once more, huffing. She desperately wished for a change in topic. Or a hole to crawl into.

"It wasn't with Ron," she corrected, despite herself. "Ron and I dated for a few weeks this past summer, but it felt too weird."

"Well who, then?" he asked. He looked thoroughly pleased with himself, as if making her uncomfortable was his aim. Maybe it was.

"Viktor," she whispered, fidgeting anxiously with her quill.

" _Krum_?" he asked, loudly and Hermione shushed him. " _You_  had sex with Viktor Krum. That's impressive."

"Must you be so loud?" she questioned, irritable. "And yes, he came to England to visit the summer after fifth year. The last night, things sort of just… happened." She paused, making a face. "The next time I saw him was at Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding but that was the night the Ministry fell and Ron, Harry and I had to go underground. Viktor and I never really talked about it."

"Good story, Granger," Malfoy drawled with a teasing grin. "I guess you and Krum  _did_  seem to have a thing in fourth year."

"Yes, well," Hermione supplied, looking away. She did not want to let on how much this conversation with him, about sex of all things, was affecting her.

"Shame, though," he went on, "that you've never had a second go at it. The first time is hardly representative of what sex is  _really_  like."

Hermione made the mistake of glancing back at him; he was leaning in, across the table, a tantalizing tilt to his head, his grey eyes sparkling with something she couldn't place. A breath caught in her throat and she felt her cheeks burn once more. But she couldn't quite tear her eyes from his.

"Suppose I'll have plenty of time to find out once I'm out of school," she said, attempting some semblance of flippancy as she fidgeted with her quill.

"Now why would you do such a silly thing as  _wait_?" he breathed, his voice quiet and tempting. With his words the atmosphere shifted; the air between them grew heavy and tense.

"We're stuck in the past, Malfoy, I don't exactly see many options," Hermione whispered, wishing her words had not wavered.

"Don't you?" he questioned softly, his chin lowered, lips parted slightly. His gaze burned into hers.

Hermione swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, blinking in surprise. Her entire body stiffened, fighting the urge to run. She didn't dare voice the presumably one-sided thoughts she'd been having about him.

"Should I?" she breathed, anxiously searching his eyes for understanding.

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond when there was a great commotion on the other side of the library. They both jumped, and Hermione realized she had leaned in subconsciously towards him as well.

Blushing furiously, Hermione tore her gaze from his.

When she looked up a moment later, he was still watching her, a half smile curving his lips.

"You're amusing, Granger," he murmured. "Of course you should, and open your eyes. Let's get out of here, go for a walk or something."

"Why?" Hermione asked, unable to meet his gaze. There was no way he had been referring to himself; he was only her friend – sort of – but she couldn't keep her heart from racing at the thought.

"Because I can't focus today," he said. He packed his things neatly into his bag. "You don't have to come if you don't want to, but I'm not going to get any work done like this." He looked at her, rolling his eyes mockingly. "I'm just  _so_  excited for the ball this weekend."

Hermione just shook her head at him but she packed her things as well.

"You never returned my scarf, by the way," he informed her as they left the library.

"It's warm," she retorted, glancing sidelong at him.

"It's neither warmer nor thicker than your Ravenclaw scarf," he admonished.

"Fine then, take my Ravenclaw scarf," she said, pulling said scarf from her bag, expecting him to scoff and demand his own back

"Thank you," he replied primly. To her surprise he took the scarf, wrapping it exaggeratedly around his throat. "How do I look?" He waggled his eyebrows.

Hermione swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. She couldn't bring herself to imagine what things might have been like, had he been sorted into Ravenclaw rather than Slytherin, either here or back in their own time. Though she suspected at eleven, there would have been no other house for him.

"Scholarly," she replied, clearing her throat. "It suits you."

"I feel like I ought to put on my glasses and go to the library," he said, grinning in a self-deprecating way as he glanced back at the library they had just vacated. Hermione gave him a dirty look.

"You know we aren't that one-dimensional, just as Slytherins aren't," she said dismissively, pausing. "You have glasses?"

"Just for reading," he responded. "Obviously, I wasn't wearing them when we left so I haven't had them here."

"It's strange to think I didn't really know you at all, back home," Hermione admitted quietly. "When in actuality, it's been proven we can get along quite well."

"You're right, it  _is_  strange, but just think of the circumstances there compared to here," he explained, turning to her, "there was never a  _chance_ or a reason for us to get to know each other."

"I'm glad we've had the chance now," Hermione said, feeling a surge of boldness. Malfoy simply stared at her, something flickering vaguely in his eyes.

"As am I," he said, softly. He lifted a hand to the scarf at his neck. "And I'm glad I have your scarf. Maybe now all these crazy women without dates to the ball will stop asking me." He grinned. "Now that I look like yours."

"You don't look like ' _mine_ '," Hermione said, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks again. He raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"I absolutely do," he said, "the same way  _you_ look like mine when you wear my Slytherin scarf."

"Well, you aren't," she said, rolling her eyes, hoping he couldn't hear the pounding of her heart.

"No, I'm not," he said thoughtfully. He met her gaze again. "Although I find… I  _am_  rather looking forward to this ball. And that's something I never thought I would hear myself say."

"I am too," Hermione said softly, feeling a breath hitch in her throat.

"That's because you have a date with me," he said, smirking as he continued walking.

"It doesn't count as a date if we go as friends," she admonished, inwardly cursing herself for wishing that it  _was_  a date.

"Whatever you say, Granger," he said with a grin.

"Nice scarf, Malfoy," said a voice and Hermione recognized it as Waldo Baron's. The dark-haired boy was sitting in the courtyard with a small group of seventh year Slytherins. Malfoy casually walked over, shoving his hands into his pockets and Hermione followed with some measure of discomfort.

"Thank you," Malfoy said, exposing his throat in a mocking but amused manner. "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

"Not at all," Baron said, laughing. His eyes shifted to her. "Hello, Hermione."

"Hello, Waldo," Hermione said, with a tilt to her head, surprised at his casual usage of her given name.

"You will call me Waldo but you refuse to call him Draco," the boy said with a grin, nodding towards Malfoy. The blond rolled his eyes and Hermione suspected this wasn't the first time the conversation had come up. "Why is that?"

"I've always called him by his surname," Hermione said with a shrug. She glanced to Malfoy who shook his head blandly, as if to ignore the discussion. " _He_  calls me Granger."

"That's because calling you anything else feels strange," Malfoy clipped.

"It certainly isn't the worst thing you've called me," Hermione muttered under her breath, remembering just in time she had claimed to be half-blooded. Malfoy just stared at her with a certain measure of sincerity.

"I know," he said. His gaze said more in regards to that than he would have likely been able to convey, surrounded as they were by others.

She had a sudden urge to reach out – to touch him, maybe – but refrained.

From across the courtyard, Hermione noticed Helena staring with narrowed eyes at Baron and his Slytherin friends. But when she noticed Hermione looking, the girl smiled and waved.

Malfoy followed her gaze and Helena waved to him as well. "Go," he murmured to Hermione, idly lifting a hand toward Helena. "We'll catch up later."

"Okay," Hermione said, chewing her lip. With a brief nod to the Slytherins, she made her way over to Helena, where the girl was all too keen to share the trivial details of her day.

* * *

As Hermione lay in bed the night before the Solstice Ball she found, much to her dismay, her brain positively racing with thoughts.

She had accepted that Draco Malfoy was attractive. She had accepted that she considered him a friend. She had even considered the thought that she might have developed a small crush on him.

But when he had referred to their attending the ball together as a date – it was as if the floodgates had opened. She didn't know the protocol on that sort of thing, whether it was an actual date or not – but could the fact that he had suggested it possibly mean he  _wanted_  it to be a date?

She found herself torn between this absurdly developed interest in him and some vague part of her that was clinging to past notions of him being a schoolyard bully and an utter prat, with consistently lessening purchase. Because she knew how very different he was now.

And hadn't he expressed multiple times his displeasure with how things had gone during the war – his remorse for the way he had acted?

For the first time since she and Malfoy had stumbled across the portal, Hermione felt doubts about returning home. Some part of her – selfish, presumably – didn't want to risk him reverting back to that old self. Another part wondered if this was how he was, all along, but now he was simply able to exist as himself, without the heavy imposition of familial expectations.

Ordinarily thinking of Harry and Ron was accompanied by a sting of homesickness and wondering. But for the first time she didn't know that she wanted to face their judgement. They hadn't experienced life here, so how could they understand the person he truly was?

Life here, between them, felt simpler in so many ways. Of course there was the fact that they had no money and hardly a change of clothes and they made a lot of it up as they went – but no one here  _knew_  the eight years that followed them.

She could picture a life with him, so easily it scared her.

Especially since most of this was based on a developing friendship and a few suggestive comments, a few lingering glances.

Besides that, the closer Hermione grew to Helena, the more that weighed on her as well. She hadn't quite expected to become such easy friends with the future Ravenclaw ghost, and knowing that there was nothing she could do to prevent Helena's tragic fate, incited a deep, melancholic sadness in Hermione.

While the logical side of her understood the consequences on the time fabric by travelling through it even by a few hours, let alone a thousand years, she somehow wished she could do something. But even if she could, it would likely re-write history entirely, which could mean she may not even exist and her efforts would be for naught.

But it didn't mean she had to be happy about it.

And even if she  _could_ , somehow, do something, Hermione still had no idea how Helena was actually to die. Was it that something would actually develop within Waldo Baron – enough to stir him to love and action on her behalf, to bring him to murder? Everything at this stage in their lives pointed to no.

Hermione rolled in bed, shoving back the overwhelmed tears which threatened to land on her pillow.

The beautiful gown Helena had lent her hung on her wardrobe, silver detailing resplendent in the exposed moonlight.

As Hermione stared at the gown, her drifting mind stirred back to thoughts of the ball and of Malfoy. When she finally fell into an uneasy sleep, she dreamt of silver gowns and silver eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello! Please accept my apologies that this chapter is later than usual - between Christmas and New Years I lost a few days and had to get everything else done while I had some time off. I also haven't had the chance yet to personally respond to reviews, which I will aim to do later. I am so incredibly appreciative of all the support for this fic.
> 
> Hope you enjoy xo
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Hermione awoke to the sun rising on the shortest day of the year.

As her gaze caught the silver gown hanging beside her bed, the fine threads glistening in the first hints of sunlight, Hermione was suddenly slammed with nerves, remembering the significance of the day.

"Happy Solstice, Hermione," Helena said, stretching as she yawned and sat up.

"Happy Solstice," Hermione returned, swallowing heavily.

Helena just grinned. "Get out of bed! We have much to do before the ball tonight!"

Hermione went about the motions of her day, dressing and eating breakfast as she usually would and trying to ignore the jitters she felt. She could feel Malfoy's gaze on her from across the hall and she glanced up, trying to keep the flush from her cheeks.

"Will you allow me to style your hair?" Helena asked, playing absently with Hermione's curls as they ate. Malfoy gave her a smile across the hall, which Hermione returned.

"Of course," Hermione said distractedly to Helena as she averted her gaze.

Being a Saturday, there were no classes, but Hermione thought she might have almost preferred having classes to attend rather than the all-encompassing sense of nervous excitement that had taken over the castle.

Everywhere she looked girls were giggling and whispering to one another, while boys swaggered about, forcing confident grins.

Hermione wished she could tell anyone who might understand about the utterly bizarre atrocity that was  _her_ attending the ball with  _Draco Malfoy_. But beyond Helena, who was beside herself with excitement, no one seemed even remotely bothered with the pairing.

For some reason, the thought was incredibly liberating. People here honestly thought nothing of her and Malfoy in the same breath. They thought it made  _sense_. She tried to imagine what Harry and Ron might say and cringed.

But it was only Hermione's own lingering apprehension that played any factor in her mental ponderings on the subject.

"Smile, Hermione," Helena said as she tugged and pulled at Hermione's hair, drawing the girl from her brooding. "The solstice is a day of gratitude! Today we celebrate the rebirth of the sun and nature."

"Right, of course," Hermione hastened to say, tamping down the nerves threatening to overtake her. It would likely be fun. Regardless of what Malfoy had suggested, they were going as friends and she had no reason to believe he wouldn't act in any way contrary.

Beyond the glaring fact that she  _did_  like him on some as of yet unanalyzed level, Hermione had no reason to treat it as anything but another day. Only, instead of studying across the table from one another, they would be dancing. She in his arms, held against his firm body. What had she been  _thinking_  when she had asked him to escort her?

"Hermione!" Helena exclaimed, laughing joyfully. Hermione's eyes darted around anxiously, a bright flush rising to her cheeks. "Stop thinking about Draco! The ball will be wonderful and you will enjoy yourself!"

Hermione pushed back the impulse to physically shake off the thoughts. Instead she took a deep breath and looked to the mirror. Helena was twisting strands of her hair, pinning them into place with her wand. Hermione wished she had been paying more attention to what Helena had done to relax and smooth the curls.

The whole thing looked random but intricate and Hermione was stunned when Helena stepped back to admire her work. The girl clapped her hands together in satisfaction and then applied something that looked like a form of rouge to Hermione's cheekbones – whatever they had used during the time, she supposed – and a smudge of kohl to her eyelids.

"You will look absolutely regal," Helena announced. Hermione lifted a tentative hand to her hair and it was soft but held entirely in place.

"You need to teach me those charms," Hermione breathed.

"If you touch it too much, you will undo it," Helena admonished. "Otherwise it will stay the duration of the ball." Hermione blinked back a sudden mental image of Malfoy's hands in her hair.

Then the girl proceeded to do her own hair in a similar fashion, explaining the charms as she went and Hermione nodded along in awe. It wasn't often she did her hair in such an extravagant fashion, but even the charms to loosen the curls would be useful.

As they talked of hair and dancing and idle, unimportant things the likes of which Hermione had never had a female friend with which to discuss, Hermione slipped carefully into her silver gown.

Almost as an afterthought, she clasped the delicate silver chain necklace she had been wearing the night they transported into the past around her neck. The one thing about her appearance that had come from a thousand years into the future.

"You look lovely," Helena gasped as she turned to Hermione, dressing in her own gown of deep purple, embellished with subtle detailing of a pale blue.

"As do you," Hermione said, smiling at her friend, resting a hand on her arm. "Shall we?"

"Indeed," Helena said with an answering smile and the two descended Ravenclaw Tower to the Great Hall.

* * *

At the look on Malfoy's face Hermione felt her own breath catch. His brow furrowed, those grey eyes unblinking, his mouth half-open. His eyes darted along the length of her dress and back to her face, and as Hermione walked closer he swallowed heavily.

"Hi," she murmured, allowing a demure smile to cross her lips.

"Hi," he returned softly, lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as he stepped closer to her. "You look magnificent."

Hermione felt her cheeks tinge pink as he took her hand, dropping into a bow, and brushed his lips across the back of it. Her skin warmed at the contact.

"You look very handsome yourself," Hermione admitted, taking him in. His hair was styled in a voluminous way that was very becoming to his facial structure, and he was dressed in some sort of formal, well-cut dress robes that he must have borrowed from Waldo, because the other Slytherin boys around were dressed similarly.

"Thank you," he said silkily, still gazing at her through lidded eyes, his chin down. His head tilted as Hermione forced herself to meet his gaze, feeling her heart rate accelerate to the anxious beat of the off-kilter music playing in the background. "I mean it. You're stunning."

Hermione flushed and looked away, slipping her elbow through his as he led her into the hall.

The Great Hall had been thematically decorated in winter. Snow fell from the ceiling and vanished as it neared the many round tables that had replaced the long house tables. Tapestries and wall hangings in white, silver and pale blue covered the walls. Bright stars twinkled in the enchanted ceiling.

"This is beautiful," Hermione said, looking around the hall.

"Yes, it is," Malfoy responded, his gaze flickering to her.

"I wonder why they don't still celebrate the solstice like this," Hermione contemplated. She felt keenly the warmth of his arm where it touched hers.

"My guess would be the rise in prevalence of Christmas," he said with a shrug. "They didn't celebrate Christmas yet in the ways we do back home. Even while we have next week off from classes, it won't be in recognition of Christmas, but the solstice."

"I suppose you're probably right," Hermione agreed. "Sometimes it's easy to forget how much has changed in a thousand years."

"Indeed," he murmured as they located their names floating above one of the round tables. In a rather gentlemanly fashion, Malfoy drew Hermione's chair out for her and she took her seat with a gracious tilt of the head, which he returned with a smirk.

They were shortly thereafter joined at the table by three other pairings, none of whom Hermione knew personally. All students would be in attendance for the feast, but only those in fourth year or above would be staying for the dance.

The feast itself was incredibly extravagant, and throughout the meal she and Malfoy made idle chatter, sometimes with the other students at their table.

The more they talked, the more it seemed as if Malfoy was completely relaxed, laughing and smiling with ease. And the more Hermione realized she was in trouble.

* * *

When the meal was over and the tables had been relocated, exposing a large, central dance floor, Hermione found herself suddenly struck with the nerves she had been pushing back all day. While ordinarily assertive and unafraid of Malfoy, this was entirely different and she found herself feeling a strange mix of discomfort and anticipation.

Malfoy paused to speak with Waldo Baron as they passed one another and Hermione inconspicuously cast a handy photographic charm with her wand which would enable her to save the moment to a photograph later. She also made sure to do the same when she and Malfoy briefly conversed with Helena, if only to have a small memento of their time in the tenth century.

A small group of musicians began playing instruments and Hermione started as she noticed Malfoy watching her with a smirk.

Many students had congregated on the dance floor and were participating in some sort of dance Hermione thought looked excessively complicated and oddly choreographed, as if they were all familiar with it.

Her eyes widened when Malfoy jerked his head in the direction of the dancers, his grey eyes aglow as they met hers.

"Come on, let's dance," he murmured.

"I have no idea how to do that dance," she hissed in return.

"I do," he said simply. "Well enough, anyway. One of those outdated, pureblood traditions I had never expected to use. All you'd have to do is follow me."

"It doesn't seem that simple," she reasoned, watching the dancers warily.

"Be brave, Gryffindor," he teased, holding out a hand. Rolling her eyes, she took the proffered hand and allowed him to guide her to an open spot on the dance floor.

Hermione followed him hesitantly, allowing him to lead until she started noticing patterns in the movement, and it didn't seem as complicated as she had initially thought after all.

After some time Hermione started to enjoy herself, as Malfoy spun her, drew her in and away, and she even laughed when he pretended to drop her.

Then the dance shifted and she found someone else taking her hand – one of the other Slytherin seventh years she didn't know – leading her in a more upbeat variation of the previous dance. Then minutes later she was taken once more by Waldo Baron, livelier than she had ever seen him as he spun and twisted her about.

Glancing away, she noticed Malfoy dancing with Baron's escort, Cornelia Nott, but he was watching Hermione. He smiled as he met her gaze, spinning Cornelia with ease.

The dance came to a halt as the music stopped. Baron bowed, dropping a kiss to Hermione's hand and she curtsied to him in turn, before finding herself swept up by Malfoy once more, his hand trailing to her back.

"Would you like something to drink?" he murmured in her ear.

"Please," she responded, feeling out of breath after the fast-paced dance. With a tilt of his head, he walked toward a large table of refreshments along the wall.

She turned to observe the rest of the hall, grinning at the sight of Helena and Pollux laughing together at one of the tables. She winked when Helena glanced up but the other girl merely rolled her eyes.

Hermione found herself smiling as she watched Malcolm and his small sandy-haired date trip over one another on the dance floor. As much as Malcolm had been almost aggressively forward in his attentions toward her, he seemed a nice enough bloke and she was happy to see he had found someone with whom to attend the ball. And not only that, but they laughed and talked together and appeared to enjoy one another's company.

"Having second thoughts?" Malfoy asked as he walked up, slipping a cup of something into her hand.

"Definitely not," Hermione said with a smile, almost subconsciously leaning toward his warmth. She peered into her mug. It looked like punch. "Do you suppose it's spiked?"

"Hard to tell," he admitted, "there were two bowls. I took a gamble." He glanced sidelong at her, a mischievous look crossing his face. "Shall I test your drink for poison, milady?"

"Why, yes," she said, a feminine giggle escaping her lips as he dropped into a mocking bow and took her drink, his fingers grazing hers. He took a small sip, making a show of tasting the beverage.

"It does not taste spiked," he confirmed, handing the drink back.

"Thank you, milord," she returned with a small curtsy. He grinned, the expression lighting up his eyes.

"Of course, if it  _is_  spiked, I'm not responsible for what happens," he muttered.

"If it  _is_ spiked, will you keep me from making a spectacle of myself?" she asked, smiling.

"Deal."

They sat at a nearby table, discussing other notable differences between the Hogwarts of this time in comparison to the Hogwarts they had come from. They were finishing their second glasses of punch when the musicians started playing once more, a slower song this time.

Malfoy looked up, meeting her gaze.

"All I can say," he began, in a low tone, "is that I'm glad for the differences between then and now. If for no reason other than the chance to get to know you." Hermione's next breath hitched in her throat as he held her gaze. He breathed, "dance with me?"

She chewed her lip and nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak as she slipped her hand into his again and he led her to the dance floor.

When he drew her nearer, Hermione was certain he would be able to feel the wild pounding of her heart against her chest, so close to his, his hands warm and steady on her. But she could feel his heart beat, too, and when she looked at him he gave her an affectionate half-smile.

So she leaned in and allowed herself to meld with him, privately admiring how seamless and natural it felt. They danced for what felt like hours, Hermione slipping into awareness of him as she rested her head against his shoulder, playing with the fine hairs at the back of his neck.

"So what would your father say about you dancing with a Muggle-born at a ball?" Hermione asked softly, a trace of a smile slipping onto her lips.

"I don't care what he would say," he clipped, his hands sliding down her back. "Merlin knows that man made plenty of mistakes in his life. But it's irrelevant because he's in Azkaban. Likely for the rest of his life."

"I remember," Hermione murmured, wondering if she shouldn't have mentioned it.

"And with him in prison, the duties of the household fall to me," Malfoy explained. He drew back enough to look at her. "Which includes the decision-making – so even if he  _wanted_  to complain, he couldn't." He hesitated for a moment, lifting his brows. "Provided I haven't been presumed dead, at least."

"That sounds like a lot of responsibility," Hermione said, feeling entirely at ease within his arms and allowing herself to enjoy the moment.

"It is," he admitted. "Especially since I'm only eighteen. Rather, wait…" he drifted off, thinking for a moment. "No, I'm still eighteen. Re-living the first half of the school year has messed up my sense of timing."

"Tell me about it," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I've turned nineteen twice now."

"And we didn't celebrate either time," Malfoy said with a smirk.

"Of course we wouldn't have the first time," she said dismissively, "and the second time was only a few weeks after we arrived here. We weren't exactly spending a lot of time together then."

"I'll have to make it up to you, then," he said teasingly. Hermione felt herself flush at the thought. He thought for a moment, his hand absently tracing patterns on her back. "I suppose it's one of the other reasons I like being here – I don't have to deal with the mess that the estate has become. Not yet, anyway."

"Wouldn't some of that fall to your mother?" Hermione questioned, genuinely curious.

"Certain things she can manage in my stead," he said, "especially given I'm still in school. But the duty falls on me as the next male in the line. It's a bit archaic, I know. My mother is technically a Black and not a Malfoy. Even though all the old lines are so blended together anyway."

"Fascinating," Hermione said, attempting to sound polite though she had little interest in how pureblood families operated.

"Is it?" he teased, reading through her. "I've always found it a bit dry, to be honest."

"Fairly dry," Hermione agreed with a grin.

He stared at her as a new song began.

"I haven't heard you mention your parents once," he said quietly.

Her brow furrowed as her heart twisted at the tentative expression on his face. She chewed her lip for a moment before forcing a smile.

"My parents are in Australia," she settled on, unsure whether she wanted to taint their lovely evening with sadness.

"Australia," he repeated, blinking. "That's… warm. Why Australia?"

He must have read something on her face because the look in his eyes nearly broke Hermione; a sudden yearning took her heart with the hopes that his concern might be genuine.

"Because that's where I suggested they go when I removed myself from their memories before the war. So I knew they would be far away from harm," she said softly, unable to hold his gaze.

"Granger," he murmured, and something in his tone of voice caused her heart rate to pick up as she looked back to him. "You – thats…" he drifted off, looking distraught as he gazed at her. "It can't be undone?" She quickly shook her head.

It seemed he had no words as he drew her closer with a heavy exhale, resting his cheek atop her head. Hermione held him tighter, leaning into his chest, allowing herself to feel a small measure of the pain that threatened to choke her daily.

"I'm sorry," he finally murmured into her hair. "I never knew."

"Not your fault," she whispered. He didn't respond and she had learned enough about him, during their time spent here, to know that he might have considered himself indirectly responsible through his involvement as a Death Eater.

"Let's go for a walk," he said, his eyes distant. He held out his arm and Hermione hesitantly slipped her own through it.

He led her into the gardens which were enchanted to keep warm; the dark night sky overhead twinkled with a blanket of bright stars, as if celebrating the longest night of the year. Balls of light hovered, casting pale illumination along the pathway.

He released her elbow, his fingers moving to play absently about her lower back.

"I meant what I said earlier," he said, his gaze flickering briefly to hers as they walked. "I'm glad of this experience. I'm glad that we have had the chance to learn more about a different time; I've been enriched through new friendships, and I greatly value the chance I've had to know you."

He turned to her, his grey eyes meeting hers and Hermione found herself momentarily speechless. He went on.

"Being sent back here has changed my perspective on so many things, and allowed me to embrace that, if only by being away from everything that shackled me before," he said. His grey eyes were more honest than she'd ever seen them.

"I can see it," Hermione said softly, swallowing. It did not feel like a conversation between friends, the way he was staring at her. "And I know what you mean – being here, away from the war and all those preconceived notions that went along with it – I think it's changed me too."

He smiled softly, breaking their gaze. "Waldo suspects I aim to marry you."

"Everything is about marriage to these students, isn't it?" Hermione asked, attempting to diffuse the tension that threatened to overtake her.

"It's just what they know," Malfoy said softly, shrugging. "He is to be wed to Cornelia Nott shortly after they finish school. She isn't terrible, but she is very uninteresting. Typical pureblood heiress. I can't tell whether he is happy with the match or not. But of course, it won't be up to him."

Hermione tamped down the curiosity that always arose when thinking about Baron and Helena and the truth of how things had actually gone between them.

Instead she asked, "and what do you think – about what Waldo thinks?"

He stared at her for a moment, long enough for Hermione to grow anxious.

"I'm not sure," he said. He took her hand, his fingers absently entwining with hers. Hermione felt her breath catch, all of her energy focused on the contact between them. "What I do know," he said quietly, "is that you've become an important part of my life. I've come to value our time together, and I look forward to spending time with you every day." He took a deep breath. "I know that I don't look forward to going back if any of that is going to change."

Hermione gazed at him, her brow furrowed and mouth parted, absorbing the words he was saying. Was it possible that he had come to care for her as well? She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.

"Please say something," he said quietly, a ghost of a smirk at his lips.

"It's as if you spoke the words directly from my own mind," she breathed, staring at those stormy eyes. "Seeing you, even if we're only researching, has become the highlight of my day." She looked away and he squeezed her hand. "I can't fathom the change since we've arrived here, but I am so grateful for it."

"Good," he said, and when Hermione looked back at him he was smiling but there was something wholly significant in his gaze. His free hand lifted to trace her cheekbone and Hermione's breath hitched in her throat.

Then his eyes flickered to something behind her and his expression changed. His jaw clenched as he looked back to her and Hermione turned to see what he had noticed.

Helena was seated on a bench alone, some distance away, her face in her hands. Hermione's eyes widened as she looked back to the blond.

"Come on," Malfoy said with a tilt of his head. He released her hand and his own drifted once more to her back instead.

Helena looked up with a sniffle when she noticed their presence. Her eyes grew as she realized who had come over, shaking her head when she noticed Malfoy's hand on Hermione's back.

"I did not mean to bother you," she said, even as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. It was a display Hermione had never once seen from the ordinarily tough and pragmatic girl.

"You didn't," Malfoy said shortly as he released Hermione and took a seat on one side of Helena. "Are you alright?"

Hermione sat on Helena's other side, rubbing a hand down her back.

"I hate him so much," Helena whispered, her eyes empty. Malfoy met Hermione's gaze with pursed lips.

"What did he say this time?" Hermione asked softly. But Helena only shook her head, biting her lip.

Malfoy stood, offering a hand to each girl. He turned to Hermione, his eyes warm.

"Go," he said softly. "Take care of her." He squeezed her hand that he held once more, in reassurance. "We'll talk more later."

"I am sorry," Helena gasped, clearly mortified.

"Don't be," Malfoy clipped. "I am sorry he treats you so poorly." Hermione blinked at the compassion he was showing to her friend.

"Good night," Hermione murmured. He offered a quick smile.

"To you as well," he said before turning and walking back into the hall as Hermione led Helena to Ravenclaw Tower.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Guys. I'm seriously overwhelmed by the response to this fic. It really means so much to me to receive so many wonderful messages and I LOVE hearing your theories about the plot. It's delightful to see so many new names as well. :)
> 
> Something that really means a lot to me is seeing readers show interest in multiple stories of mine. So to the names that have cropped up a few times recently, thank you. I appreciate it more than I can say.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

In the days following the ball, Hermione saw Malfoy only briefly or in passing. While the students had the week off from classes, in celebration of the solstice, it was difficult to slip away unnoticed or spend an extended amount of time researching.

The conversation they'd had at the ball had not resurfaced and Hermione, suspecting she had perhaps misread his intentions, hadn't brought it up. At first she had thought maybe he liked her, too, but she certainly didn't want to embarrass them both if it wasn't what he had been implying.

Beyond that, Helena still hadn't told Hermione what exactly it was that Waldo Baron did or said at the ball to cause her to become so upset. But the girl had been visibly affected for a prolonged period of time and Hermione had opted to stick by her friend.

So it was that the two went into the village, as students were free to come and go during the week off provided they signed out on the ledger. Helena had offered to buy Hermione a Butterbeer and the brunette had obligingly accepted.

It was unlike Helena to be so despondent, or so private.

As she sipped her Butterbeer, Hermione found herself reflecting on the similarities between Waldo and Helena, and herself and Malfoy – before, at least. Malfoy had always been unnecessarily antagonistic towards her during their first six years at Hogwarts, due to her blood status, her house and her friends. But she had, of course, given a lot of it back in turn.

It was odd that Waldo tended to be polite or even friendly to  _her_. She and Helena were in the same house; Hermione had claimed to be a half-blood, as was Helena, and they largely spent time with the same association. Even Malfoy was friendly with Helena.

Was the feud between Helena and Waldo something that ran much deeper, then? Something that had perhaps happened years ago to spark such lingering animosity?

Or was Waldo only polite with her because of her friendship with Malfoy? She didn't doubt the blond's ability to condescend or persuade; he was the most Slytherin person she had ever met, after all, even despite the changes he had shown since coming to this time. Perhaps he had said something to Baron. Or was it that, as Malfoy had said at the ball, Waldo simply suspected the two of them to be involved in some way, and did not want to upset his friendship with the blond?

Hermione was starting to feel as if, the longer she stayed in this time, the more unanswerable questions seemed to crop up.

How in the name of Merlin would Waldo Baron care enough for Helena one day that he would kill her in a fit of passionate rage? Or would the opposite be true, and he might simply hate her enough to murder her in cold blood? Neither seemed likely.

But yet the girl's resistance to speak of the subject at all incited Hermione's curiosity more than it rightly should have. There were simply too many aspects of the story that made no sense whatsoever: how Helena and Waldo were to die; how Helena obtained Ravenclaw's diadem; how it ended up in Albania.

"Hermione?" Helena asked, interrupting her musing. "Do you think we should prepare our potions project tomorrow while we have time?"

"Yes, of course," Hermione said with a smile, sipping her Butterbeer.

* * *

"Merry Christmas, Granger," Malfoy said, walking up to Hermione Christmas afternoon after lunch. The Great Hall felt unusually empty with so many students having gone home for the solstice holidays. Helena had gone into Hogsmeade with some of the other Ravenclaws who had stayed at the castle.

While the Winter Solstice was apparently significant cause for celebration – Christmas was almost a non-entity and it was nice to have someone else around who also cared for Hermione's favourite holiday.

"Merry Christmas to you as well, Malfoy," she returned, smiling at him.

"Evidently Christmas trees have yet to become a tradition," he murmured, looking around the Hall. "It's easy sometimes to forget how far back we've traveled, because Hogwarts itself is really quite similar."

"I suppose," Hermione agreed, making a face.

"Shame, decorating the tree was always my favourite part of Christmas," he said but shrugged all the same.

"Really," Hermione murmured, fixing him with a skeptical glare.

"Yes, really," he teased, rolling his eyes. "Just because my father was a Death Eater, doesn't mean I was raised in the dungeons."

Hermione flushed slightly, averting her gaze. "I have an idea, come on."

* * *

One hour later, they found themselves in the Room of Requirement.

There was a strange, oddly shaped tree in the far end of the room, growing out of the ground as if planted there. Hermione had noticed it days earlier and hadn't recognized it as something they had ever studied in Herbology.

The bizarre, purple tree now sported a variety of oddments they had found in the room as makeshift decorations. Malfoy had affixed a ten-pointed star he had located within one of the piles to the top with a sticking charm.

They sat on a worn-looking couch by the fire, observing their creation.

"It's really quite lovely," Hermione conceded. Though many of the items they had used as ornaments were unfamiliar, they had been careful to ensure nothing would explode, emit suspicious gases or otherwise cause bodily injury.

"It is," Malfoy agreed, leaning back, a satisfied smile on his lips. "We should pick out a gift for each other." He gestured to the great piles of items all over the room.

"That's theft," Hermione reminded him with a raised eyebrow, even as her heart jumped at the thought. "Remember, presumably all of the items here belong to Ravenclaw or the other founders, if they have access to the room. It isn't a free-for-all of hidden items yet."

"As if she's going to notice two items," he said, rolling his eyes. "Okay, we'll put them back before we leave, when we figure out how. And we won't take things from the shelves, only the piles."

Hermione stared at him, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "Fine, but we have to make sure we return them. And it can't be anything that looks useful or important."

"Okay, deal," he grinned. "Ten minutes?"

Hermione nodded, a smile slipping onto her features. She walked to the nearest pile, shifting nervously through it. What could she possibly gift the most wealthy, aristocratic person she had ever met?

Some minutes and several piles of nonsensical objects later, Hermione snickered as she found the item she wanted to gift him. She conjured a small box and tucked it safely inside, returning to their couch by the fire where he was already seated, holding a small gift-wrapped package.

Hermione swallowed heavily as she met his gaze and they handed one another their gifts.

"Open yours first,' he said, a haughty edge to his tone.

Carefully, Hermione opened the ends of the package and removed the paper. A rectangular, worn leather quill case fell out, soft and smooth in her hands. Turning it over, she noticed an eagle form embossed in the leather.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, opening the clasp. Inside were several coloured wells of ink.

"Before you complain, it was torn and discarded. I repaired it," he murmured, meeting her eyes.

"I won't want to return it," she whispered, smiling. "Thank you." She suddenly felt extremely self-conscious about the item she had chosen for him, given the apparent thought that had gone into his selection.

But he was already opening the box, delicately so as not to disturb the item inside. He stared blankly at the gift.

It was a small, rather crudely carved wooden figure of a young man, its hair falling in the same casual manner Malfoy wore his. The face was blank but for a pair of eyes, and around the shoulders wrapped a snake which wore a cheesy grin, contrasting with the rest of the sculpture.

Malfoy peered at it closely for a moment before he broke into a wholehearted laugh. Gasping, he muttered, "it's perfect."

Hermione couldn't help the snicker that left her at his reaction.

"Thanks, Granger," he said, grinning. He set the figure carefully on the end table beside him.

"Thanks as well," she said, smiling at the fondness with which he regarded the carving. "So shall we do some research?"

"It's Christmas," he stated blandly. "So we should not worry about research just for today. I hear there is a rousing game of Shuntbumps going on this afternoon."

Hermione stared at him, raising an eyebrow. "What is Shuntbumps?"

"Beats me," he said, shrugging. "Some old broom game, it sounded like. Waldo was quite looking forward to it."

"Not Quidditch?" Hermione asked sharply.

"No," he said thoughtfully. "Quidditch wasn't popular yet, if they even played it. It won't be well known for another fifty years or so, anyway."

"Of course you would know that," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Of course," he replied, quite seriously. " _Quidditch Through the Ages_ was one of the first books I bought myself."

Hermione smiled, shaking her head. "Okay, let's go see what Shuntbumps is all about."

"Really?" Malfoy asked, tilting his head. "I've never seen you show even a remote interest in anything broom-related, unless Potter and Weasley were involved."

Hermione stared at him as she realized the truth of his words. Perhaps being in this time was affecting her as well.

"Well, now you have," she said lightly, standing from the couch. "Let's go."

After a quick detour to their respective common rooms to put on winter clothes, and stow their Christmas gifts, the two re-convened near the Great Hall, from where they ventured onto the grounds.

Malfoy grinned as he tightened Hermione's Ravenclaw scarf around his neck and Hermione bit back a smile, already wearing his Slytherin one.

A makeshift bleacher had been set up near where the Quidditch pitch would one day be built. Many students were already watching or participating. With a jolt, Hermione realized Gryffindor and Slytherin were flying around as well, laughing. It was always slightly unnerving to see Salazar Slytherin act in a carefree manner, infrequent though it was.

Shuntbumps, as it turned out, was a simple broomstick jousting game, wherein two opponents would attempt to knock one another from their brooms. They sat on the bleachers for several minutes in order to learn the basics, discussing what appeared to be a scoring mechanism of sorts.

Hermione jumped as Gryffindor suddenly flew past, nearly unseating Slytherin from his broom.

Then Waldo Baron flew over, holding an extra broom out to Malfoy with a smirk. The blond rolled his eyes, and with a quick glance to Hermione, his eyes alight, he accepted the broom, mounting it and flying out into the field with ease.

Watching him fly, simultaneously attempting to knock Baron from his broom and protect himself as well, Hermione realized he hadn't been able to fly a broom since they had arrived. Seeing the way he gained speed, laughing as he and Baron flew around one another, she knew he must have missed it and smiled as she watched.

Shuntbumps was played quite low to the ground, so when a player was knocked from their broom, the fall wasn't incredibly significant. After several evenly matched rounds, Waldo declared himself the winner and Malfoy rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he walked back to resume his seat beside Hermione.

"He's a cheater," he announced. "I'm certain I should have won." But a light-hearted grin was on his face even so. "Would you like to try?"

"Not a chance," Hermione breathed. He laughed, shifting closer to her so that his thigh brushed against hers. Whether intentional or not, she couldn't tell, but he didn't move away.

They watched several games being played at once, and Hermione found she was enjoying herself. Malfoy, for his part, was quite interested in the rules, closely observing the matches and how the scoring occurred.

Then he simply leaned back, content to watch. He turned to look at Hermione.

"Okay, hypothetically," he began, "What if we just stayed here?"

"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "Just stay here – forever?" She stared blankly at him, his grey eyes unnervingly honest.

"If we stopped trying to figure it out," he shrugged. "Would it be so bad?"

"If we never returned to 1999," Hermione said thoughtfully. "We would never see our friends again. You'd never see your mother again. The Malfoy line would  _end_." His eyebrows flickered, unconcerned, and Hermione was taken aback. "We have no money, no homes, no one we know outside of Hogwarts."

"I'm sure between the two of us, we're clever enough to figure out an income," he said easily.

"Why do I get the feeling you've given this considerable thought?" Hermione asked nervously.

Some part of her balked at the thought of never seeing Harry and Ron again – even as a small part of her suggested it might be nice to continue down this alternate path with Malfoy.

"Because I give  _everything_ considerable thought, Granger, you should know that by now," he said. "I'm not saying I'm going to give up on the code – but there is a certain allure to the idea."

"You're right," she admitted, "life here is so… different and unexpected. I think it's been good for us both." She glanced at him and he tilted his head in consideration. "But I don't think I'm ready to stay for good."

"No, neither am I," he agreed. "Just interesting to think on."

Hermione looked over at him, her mind suddenly alive with the possibility of never returning. As much as it  _was_  fascinating to experience Hogwarts during such a different time, she couldn't fathom staying forever. For one, she did not want to witness Helena's death, knowing there was no way to prevent it.

He returned the gaze but his eyes were distant, as if he was also deep in thought.

A chill breeze swept past as the sun began to dip and Hermione fought a shiver. Malfoy lifted the hand nearest her and laid it on her back, almost as if he hadn't noticed. But as he traced patterns through her coat he offered her a wry smile.

"Are you ready to go inside?" he asked, shaking off whatever thoughts had distracted him.

"I suppose so," she admitted, although a part of her wanted to remain outside with him.

They walked to the Great Hall, where it was nearly time for dinner anyway, and Hermione sat beside Helena, who told Hermione of her day in Hogsmeade. Helena seemed more upbeat than Hermione had seen her since the ball and smiled along, her mind still racing at the thought that they might never find a way home.

* * *

Two days later, as the changing millennium swiftly approached, Hermione still found herself to be anxious at the thought that they might not be able to return home. Despite the fact that she logically knew,  _eventually_  the portal would be developed – they knew so little about when the portal was actually built, and to what end, that she took little solace in the fact.

The only thing that kept her from succumbing to her growing unease was the fact that Malfoy was calm as ever, as he sat across from her, poring over a scroll that she knew he had already been through numerous times.

She frowned, struggling to focus on her own research materials. The copy of Ravenclaw's runes sat between them, mockingly, as if it were waiting patiently for them to one day figure out its secrets.

Feeling her gaze, Malfoy looked up at her.

" _What_?" he asked, raising a pale brow.

"We're never going to figure this out, are we?" she asked, chewing nervously on her lower lip. "It feels so close but yet so far."

"Of course we will," he said and his easy confidence did little to boost Hermione's despondency.

"How can you be sure?" she questioned, her voice rising unintentionally. "We've been through all of this information  _twice_ already."

Malfoy sighed, rolling the parchment and setting it to the side. "Because if I don't believe we'll figure this out, I have to resign myself to never making it back home. And despite what I said the other day, that isn't an option I'm ready to accept, Granger."

Hermione tried to control her anxiety but his words only made her feel worse. She was so tired of finding no answers, of feeling the melancholy creep in each time she unsuccessfully set aside a resource.

"Let's call it a night," Malfoy said decidedly, his tone leaving little room for debate. With a wave of his wand, the materials they had been poring through flew back into his bag.

"Fine," Hermione acquiesced with a sigh. "We'll come back to it tomorrow, fresh."

"Right," he said. "It's late, anyway." They quietly packed their things. "I'll walk you to Ravenclaw Tower."

"I'm perfectly capable –" Hermione began but his stare cut her off.

"Granger," he said, clenching his jaw, "it wasn't a question." Instantly his eyes softened as he looked at her. "I know this is difficult, trust me. But we  _will_  figure this out."

They walked in silence, Hermione still dwelling on her lingering frustration and despair. She wished she could share in his confidence but they had yet to find anything helpful since the runes and it had been weeks of nothing.

She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the cold air that had crept into the castle from outside. Malfoy came up alongside her, and she consciously stopped herself from leaning into his warmth.

They hadn't had much chance to talk alone since Christmas, sequestered with their respective housemates, and the conversation and closeness they'd had at the ball still hadn't come up. But classes would return soon and at the least, things would go back to normal in that aspect.

"Thanks Malfoy," Hermione said, turning to face him as they arrived at the base of the stairwell into Ravenclaw Tower. She suddenly felt emotionally exhausted. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "Good night."

"Granger," he murmured, grasping her elbow as she made to walk away. She turned back expectantly. "I meant it. We'll figure this out. Between the two of us, we will. I don't really intend on giving up, and neither should you."

"I'm not giving up," she said with a sigh, "it's just frustrating. I think what you said the other day about staying here made me nervous." She forced a smile which he returned with a soft shake of his head.

"I know, and I didn't really mean it," he said, with a flicker of his eyebrows. "It's a confusing situation. But…" he ran a hand through his hair, the other still grasping her arm. "At least we're in it together."

Hermione met his gaze, his grey eyes staring at her intently. She was instantly and acutely aware of the pressure of his hand on her arm.

"Right," Hermione said, a trace of a smile slipping to her lips. "Some days I think you're the only one keeping my mind straight between our time and this one."

"Likewise," he breathed, his lips parted. "I couldn't imagine being here with anyone else."

The air shifted and tensed and Hermione was suddenly enthralled by his beautiful, stormy eyes. His hand on her elbow trailed down her forearm; he swiped his thumb across the back of her hand.

He moved in closer and Hermione was hyper aware of his presence; the way she could just feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, the way his lips pressed together as he swallowed, how his chin dropped as his heavily lidded eyes penetrated hers.

She parted her lips to speak and could find no words.

But then his lips were on hers, a soft, barely there graze, and before Hermione could comprehend what was happening he had kissed her again, more firmly, his tongue darting out to taste her lips.

A breath caught in Hermione's throat as he pulled away, only far enough for his eyes to meet hers. Her heart began to race as she stared at him, enraptured as he moistened his lips. He held her gaze for what felt like hours but was merely seconds before Hermione grasped his collar, dragging his face back to hers and their lips met again.

It was an explosion; a cacophony of touch and sensation as he drew her closer, his hands drifting from her arms to her face. A whimper escaped her throat as he caught her lower lip sharply with his teeth, drawing it out before he released it, catching her tongue once more.

Through the haze of delirium that had overtaken her, the thought occurred to Hermione that it was unlike any kiss she had ever received. He most certainly knew what he was doing, his ministrations delicate and precise, but yet his lips were firm and assertive against hers.

And if the growing and insistent heat within her core was anything to go by, his touch was affecting her in a particularly distracting way.

She grasped a handful of soft blond hair, tugging lightly and with a low growl he drew away, his lips dancing a trail along her jaw, down her neck. Hermione gasped as his teeth gently grazed her pulse, clutching him desperately and she found her back pressed against the stone wall, his hands working her teasingly, temptingly.

His lips met hers again, with renewed fervour and Hermione, heart pounding a dizzying cadence, drew him nearer still, her hands moving of their own daring accord to push his robes from his shoulders.

He caught her wrist, wrenching away with a gasp of breath, his stormy grey eyes sliding open to meet hers once more. For a long moment, they simply stared at once another; he released her wrist but did not step away.

"Granger," he breathed, his brow furrowed. "That was..."

"Unexpected," Hermione whispered. Her eyes trailed down to his lips once more.

"Yes," he responded. A smirk drifted to his lips and for the first time Hermione realized just how very appealing it was. He entwined his fingers with hers. "Though… perhaps we ought to say goodnight." He grazed her cheekbone with the fingers of his other hand. "Before I drag you somewhere half-private and have my way with you."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock at his blatant declaration of interest, although a small part of her wanted to let him.

"Probably for the best," she whispered and he released her, stepping away. Hermione shuddered at the sudden loss of heat.

"Goodnight, Granger," he murmured, his eyes warm and intriguing.

"Night," she exhaled, biting her lip as he turned and walked away, toward the dungeons. She hesitated, watching him, her mind reeling before she hurried up the staircase of Ravenclaw Tower.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I continue to be amazed, honoured and humbled by the response to this story. I am thrilled at the response to the last chapter, and I'm happy so many of you are intrigued by the time travel elements, as well as the story of Helena and Waldo we're establishing here :) You guys really are the best readers!
> 
> Here's a fun tidbit, since there have been a few mentions about Waldo Baron's name. Waldo was NOT chosen arbitrarily to be the Bloody Baron's first name; it is the closest potential consideration to being his canon name. In the Welsh translation of the books, he was called the Barwn Waldo Waedlyd or Bloody Baron Waldo - however, the inclusion of 'Waldo' in the translation may have simply been a way to keep the alliteration of his name and for that reason, it may not be canon at all. Regardless, it felt like a fun choice.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Helena asked, staring blankly at Hermione, who was poking distractedly at a bowl of oats at breakfast the next morning.

"What?" Hermione asked, blinking. "Oh, yes I'm fine."

"You do not seem fine," the girl said cautiously. "Did something happen?"

"Nope," Hermione said loudly, smacking on her empty spoon. "Everything is great."

"I see," Helena said, her eyes lighting up. "I understand. You and Draco seemed very close at the ball last week. Is this something to do with him?"

"What?" Hermione asked, dazedly. "Oh, nothing to do with Draco. Malfoy, rather."

"I find it odd that you refer to him by his surname, even though you are friends."

Hermione shrugged, eating a spoonful of her oats. "We just always have. We haven't always been friends."

"Well, you are  _now_ , so you really ought to call him Draco. It is a good name," Helena said thoughtfully.

"What about you and Pollux?" Hermione asked, attempting to distract the other girl. "You seemed to have fun together at the ball. Is he going to court you?"

"I don't desire to be courted by Pollux," Helena said quietly. "He and I have been friends for seven years. And you may note, I call him by his given name." The smirk on Helena's face could have rivaled Malfoy's. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Then who  _do_  you desire to be courted by?" Hermione asked, realizing how easily Helena's words had slipped into her own vocabulary.

"There is no one I desire that I may have," Helena said cryptically. Her eyes drifted across the hall, to perhaps the Gryffindor or Hufflepuff table, Hermione couldn't tell.

"You don't know that," Hermione assured her, finishing her breakfast. "Perhaps whoever it is thinks the same of you and is afraid they'll be rejected."

"That is not the case," Helena said with a demure smile. "Although I appreciate your efforts, Hermione."

"I forgot something in the dorm," Hermione said distractedly, rising as she tucked an orange into her bag. "See you later!"

As she turned to leave the hall, attempting to keep too much spring from her step, Hermione thought she saw Helena shaking her head in baffled consternation.

* * *

The next time Hermione saw Malfoy was in the Room of Requirement that evening. Notwithstanding how she had awkwardly averted her gaze from his in the Great Hall during meals, feeling a horrendous flush rise to her cheeks all the while.

She hadn't yet wrapped her head around what had occurred the night before at the base of Ravenclaw Tower, and the last thing she needed was for Helena's observant gaze to pick up anything else between them.

But he was waiting for her, just inside the door, a hint of a delectably wicked smile playing about his lips.

Hermione nearly jumped in surprise but a smile slipped unbidden to her features as well when she saw him.

"Hi," he murmured, his grey eyes searching out hers.

"Hello," Hermione responded softly, entranced by his soulful gaze.

Malfoy reached a hand around her waist, drawing her towards him, his hand resting on the small of her back. "You were ignoring me today." He tilted his head. "How come?"

Hermione blinked, taken aback. She didn't want to admit that she half expected him to come to his senses and want nothing more to do with her. Or worse – that he would regret kissing her. She settled on a version of the truth.

"I didn't know how to look at you, after last night," she said, feeling that flush creep to her cheeks once more.

"In a good way, I hope," he teased. He seemed to be in a better mood than usual.

"Yes, in a good way," Hermione admitted, biting her lower lip.

"Good," he breathed. He gazed at her mouth and with a swipe of his other thumb, freed the lip from her teeth. Hermione forgot to breathe. Then his hand traced along her jaw, sliding into her hair and he ducked in, his lips meeting hers.

While the newly familiar spark of energy from the contact was the same, the kiss itself couldn't have been more different from the one they had shared the night before. While that one had been heated and intense, with an edge of desperation, this one was slow, languid, almost lazy.

His tongue grazed hers teasingly and Hermione grasped his collar, her core clenching in approval. She suppressed a groan at the feel of his body pressed against hers as he kissed her, tantalizingly.

Malfoy maneuvered her to the wall, his hand on her back moving to graze her hip as he pressed himself against her, still kissing her patiently, torturously. He loosed a low growl as Hermione moved closer still, her hands sliding through his fine, pale blond locks.

He ground his hips against hers and Hermione, feeling the impressive evidence of his arousal, couldn't stop the whimper that slipped from her throat as she basked in the glorious friction.

He kissed her harder, escalating the pace which she returned in equal measure. One of his hands grazed the side of her breast, while the other fidgeted idly with the waistband of her skirt. Hermione shuddered in the all-encompassing awareness of him as she kissed him with a passion and a fire she hadn't altogether known she'd possessed.

He drew back with a stinging bite to her lower lip, which he soothed with another soft kiss, his grey eyes darkened with lust opening to meet hers as their breaths mingled between them.

He seemed in no rush to move away and Hermione merely stared at him, dazed from the heated contact, her hands sliding down his chest. Finally she blinked, clearing her throat.

"What is this?" she asked, barely more than a whisper.

"What do you want it to be?" he returned, tugging her earlobe between his teeth.

"I don't know," she breathed, hesitant. Her hands stayed fisted in his shirt. "Do you?"

He took a deep breath. "I like you. I want it to be something, if you do."

"I think…" she said, trailing off, "I like you too. I would like that. Never in a million years would I have thought to hear myself say that." She laughed and he graced her with an authentic grin.

"I know what you mean," he said, planting one last kiss to her lips. "Hermione." He drawled her name out, lengthening the syllables as if testing them out and a shiver crept down her spine at the sound of her name rolling off his tongue. He entwined their fingers. "Now, quit wasting time, I've got to show you something."

" _I'm_  wasting time," she pronounced but grinned and allowed herself to be pulled toward the table and took her usual seat.

"Yes you are," he said with a smirk but turned his notes toward her. "So, you are obviously aware that we've been looking into all manner of natural phenomena with regards to a theme behind this code." Hermione nodded but didn't interrupt. "Astronomy, astrology, numerology…"

He lifted his quill, pointing absently to the pages upon pages of notes they'd made.

"Never did we look into the four basic alchemical elements," he continued, his eyes meeting hers, "fire, earth, water and –"

"Air," Hermione breathed, cutting him off.

"Air," Malfoy agreed with a nod. "Air was believed by some to be representative of intelligence and the soul. Ravenclaw's house mascot is an eagle. It made the most sense."

"You found this all today?" Hermione asked, incredulous. Just the night before they'd had nothing.

"Couldn't sleep last night after a certain encounter," he said with a shrug, his lips twitching. "Anyway, according to both geometry and numerology, the element of  _air_  is associated with the octahedron – and by extension, the number eight."

Hermione's lips parted as she stared at him, feeling her heart begin to race in response to his scholarly initiative. Malfoy paused at her expression and then smirked.

"So," he carried on, clearing his throat, "just for fun I wrote out every eighth rune in the code." He turned a sheet of parchment to himself and wrote out a phrase before rotating it to her.

_Dimensions of the Temporal Space and Misplaced Persons_

"What?" she exclaimed in surprise, meeting his gaze with wide eyes. "Please tell me you aren't kidding, Malfoy."

"I haven't translated the rest yet," he said, "but no, that what it says. Take a look yourself, if you like." He handed her their list of translations for each rune.

Though she didn't doubt him, Hermione scanned the runes all the same, hardly able to believe he had actually figured out the code.

"So what are the other seven-eighths of the runes? Nonsense or relevant?" she queried.

"I don't know yet," he admitted, "that's as far as I've gone with it as of now."

"Impressive deductions, Mr Malfoy," came a third voice near the door. They both froze, eyes wide. Rowena Ravenclaw walked forward, looming over them with her jaw clenched. "You two will kindly explain yourselves. With the truth, this time."

Hermione glanced at Malfoy and he stared back blankly. Ravenclaw waved a hand and a third chair appeared at the table beside Malfoy's. The woman gave Hermione a pointed look and she walked over to sit beside him as Ravenclaw took the vacated seat.

"Did you think I would not ward this room or my notes? We will start with who you are," Ravenclaw said sternly, looking between them.

"We are exactly who we said we are," Malfoy said, deadpan as he stared at the professor. Beneath the table he entwined his fingers with Hermione's.

"Then from where?" Rowena asked, her Scottish accent thick with annoyance. "I presume you did not come from Castelobruxo."

"We came from Hogwarts," Hermione said softly, with a nervous glance at Malfoy. He nodded, eyebrows raised and lips pursed. "Only, in the year 1999."

Ravenclaw gasped, staring between the two of them in astonishment. "Surely not…" she said.

"It's true," Malfoy clipped. "Whatever you're aiming to achieve with these notes," he gestured to the stack of parchment, "you'll accomplish it."

"A thousand years," Ravenclaw breathed, shaking her head. "Your mannerisms, your speech, your style of dress when you arrived…"

"Makes sense now?" Malfoy asked with a smirk.

"We have been trying to find a way to return home," Hermione explained. "This room… in our time, it serves many purposes. It has become somewhat commonly used; we didn't mean to intrude." She opted not to mention that it had been burnt down the previous year by Fiendfyre. And that they both had nearly perished in the blaze.

"Why have you brought us here?" Malfoy asked, an edge to his tone. Ravenclaw met his gaze evenly.

"I cannot say, at this time," she admitted. "You have known all this time, that I was responsible?"

"Yes," Malfoy responded simply. "We did not know what we could expect by asking you about it."

"You would have found," Ravenclaw said, "if you had further translated those runes, that I have yet to construct whatever it was that brought you here. It is, as of yet, theoretical."

"A portal," Hermione supplied, even as she felt her heart sink. "Through a door hidden in a passageway off the courtyard."

Ravenclaw nodded. She looked between them again, distraught. "A thousand years. What else has changed?"

"With regards to Hogwarts, remarkably little," Hermione said, with a glance at Malfoy. He smirked and she understood; Ravenclaw was a curious spirit just as much as either one of them. "Although we no longer celebrate the changing of the seasons, many of the classes we take are the same; even the Three Broomsticks still stands."

Ravenclaw looked taken aback. "You do not celebrate the Harvest Feast or the Solstice Ball? Then how do you express your gratitude for the magic of the seasons?"

"We don't," Malfoy said, meeting her gaze somberly. "My line  _does_  exist, currently, though in France. I am familiar with the old tales and traditions. In our time, magic is in disarray. As it stands, Granger and I are actually considered eighth year students because in our time, a war just ended."

"A war!" Ravenclaw exclaimed. "How terrible. To what end?"

Malfoy glanced at Hermione and swallowed heavily. She saw him look to his forearm. "A dark wizard, by the name of Voldemort, attempted to establish a reign of power through pureblood supremacy. His intention was to eliminate Muggle-borns and terrorize Muggles."

"That is why you lied about your blood status," Ravenclaw said, turning to Hermione. The brunette nodded.

"I did not know how Muggle-born status would be considered here."

"This  _Voldemort_ … he has been defeated, then?" Ravenclaw asked, her eyes eager for knowledge.

"Yes," Hermione responded, "a year ago; we have been rebuilding. Or we  _were_ , anyway. We have no idea if time has carried on without us while we've been here."

"You arrived here on September first?" Ravenclaw asked.

"Yes," Malfoy supplied, "but we left from our time on January fifteenth."

"It is nearly January already," the woman said, paling significantly. "I am sorry indeed to say that whatever motivation possessed me to bring you here, has not yet been clarified. Perhaps you could tell me everything you know about this portal."

"Would you consider also filling us in on your research?" Hermione asked. "We might be able to help."

"You are both very smart," Ravenclaw said appraisingly, looking between them. "Are all students a thousand years from now as such?"

"No," Malfoy snorted. "You just so happened to bring back the top student of our year.  _Century_ , even." He looked at Hermione with a nudge to her shoulder. Hermione rolled her eyes but looked at him, fighting a smile.

"And the second smartest," she added.

"I see," Ravenclaw said, her lips twitching with a smile. "You two are courting, in some way. I had wondered."

"Actually," Malfoy said, looking at Ravenclaw. "We were enemies for almost eight years. Until we arrived here. My family…" he hesitated, looking uncomfortable, "they fought on the wrong side of the war."

Rowena's eyes widened slightly in surprise but then she relaxed, her head tilting. "It is never too late to choose a new path."

"Right," he murmured, his hand sliding down to grip Hermione's thigh.

Rowena looked at their many stacks of notes and research. With a wave of her wand, a translated copy of the runes set itself in front of them. Hermione nearly choked at the thought of the weeks and months of effort they'd put into their research. Malfoy's jaw clenched.

"You could have come to me from the first," Ravenclaw said sharply.

"Would you have believed us?" Malfoy asked, raising a skeptical brow. "Without seeing the evidence for yourself that we aren't like the students of your time?"

"I should like to think so," Rowena said thoughtfully. "Although if I had not, I would like to think an intelligent Ravenclaw and Slytherin such as yourselves might have been able to convince me."

"Granger's actually a Gryffindor," Malfoy teased with a grin.

"Are you really?" Ravenclaw asked, a sharp glint in her eyes. "But yet you are such an embodiment of the values of Ravenclaw house. Godric should like to hear that."

"Do the other founders suspect the truth?" Hermione asked.

"Salazar is curious of you," Ravenclaw permitted. "If you prefer to keep this between us, that is fine. Though tell me, how do we sort? Once the four of us are no longer around? We have discussed many ideas, none of which have been accepted by all of us."

"You charm Gryffindor's hat," Malfoy said flatly. "It's called the Sorting Hat and it reads our minds and our character."

"How brilliant," Rowena said and Hermione's eyes widened at the implication. "Does Helena know?"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. Her stomach roiled uncomfortably at the thought of telling Ravenclaw about Helena's end. Malfoy subtly shook his head.

"She has grown fond of you as a friend," Rowena stated, "and she will miss you when you return home."

"I will miss her as well," Hermione said with a frown. The thought that Helena would pass away young and linger on for a thousand years as a ghost bothered Hermione more, the closer she and Helena became. Especially since there was nothing she could do about it.

Rowena looked around the room and then back to the two of them.

"It is late," she began, "we shall meet tomorrow and you may tell me more about this portal. You may continue to use this room to your own purposes, if you so choose, though I would ask that you not reveal its existence to others just yet."

They both nodded. Ravenclaw stood, and with a demure smile, left the room.

Malfoy turned to her, his eyebrows raised. "That was exhausting."

"Yes," Hermione said thoughtfully, "though I guess I suspected it would be worse."

"Right," he agreed. He glared at the translated copy of the research. "I can't believe all of our work was negated so quickly."

"Take solace in the fact that you  _did_ , in fact, crack Ravenclaw's code," Hermione teased, nudging him in the ribs.

"That's true," he conceded. He leaned back in his seat, stretching, and dropped an arm over her shoulders. "Besides, now we have less research to do. We know that Ravenclaw  _will_  figure it out… eventually."

"Eventually," Hermione echoed. "Sort of a load off, actually, isn't it?"

"It is," he permitted. "Come on."

The large, worn-looking couch appeared in front of the fire. Before Hermione could walk over, Malfoy hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her to it, dropping her into the soft cushions.

Despite her surprise, Hermione laughed, shifting over as he tucked himself in beside her. Malfoy slipped an arm beneath her neck and she dropped her face to his chest, entangling her legs with his and it felt as natural as anything. The thought unnerved her slightly as his gaze met hers. She idly traced a pattern on his chest; the rune for 'misplaced'.

"I'm not used to this side of you," Hermione said quietly.

"No one is," he said, equal in tone as he stared at her. "I've never felt so unrestricted as I have here. So… free of expectations. Do you know what I mean?"

"Entirely," she responded. "Maybe, despite anything else, this was what we needed, too."

"Maybe you're right," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. They fell into a comfortable silence until he yawned widely. "I could fall asleep like this."

"So could I," Hermione admitted, voice quiet with sleep. "But I would never hear the end of it from Helena."

Malfoy snickered. "It's going to be weird, isn't it? Seeing them as ghosts again."

"I don't look forward to that part of returning home," Hermione said, frowning. "The more I get to know her, the more I really care for Helena. Being friends with girls has never before come easily to me and it breaks my heart to know things will end poorly for her."

"I know," he said, running his fingers through her hair. "I feel the same way about Waldo. Although he and I aren't as close. I think I see too much of myself in him, if that makes sense. Myself before."

"I see it, too," Hermione breathed.

"I think you were right not to mention it to Ravenclaw," he said, "even though we can't affect the future, it doesn't feel right to taunt a beast all the same. And besides, would you want to know something like that ahead of time if it was your daughter? It could create some adverse effects regardless."

"It doesn't make me feel any better," she said quietly.

"I wouldn't expect it to," he replied lightly. "It simply shows the strength of your heart."

Hermione didn't respond but shifted herself on his chest, making herself more comfortable as her eyelids fluttered shut. She felt a deep-seated melancholy sinking into her chest at the thoughts of her friend.

"We should go before we  _do_  fall asleep here," Malfoy said, even as he wrapped his other arm around her. Hermione hummed contentedly, sinking into his warmth. He carried on conversationally, "though I suppose if we do stay here, we can indulge in some scintillating morning sex."

Hermione's eyes flew open and she looked up at him. He merely smirked in return.

"You're right, we should go," Hermione said, extracting herself from his embrace and shivering at the sudden lack of heat.

"I was only joking," he said softly as he followed suit. He met her gaze, his expression suddenly serious. "That isn't something we need to think about until you're ready."

"Well, you said the second time would be better," she muttered, unable to hold his stare. The conversation they'd had on the subject previously had felt so hypothetical compared to this.

"I did," he said with a flicker of his brows. "And I would make it good for you, I promise. But like I said, not until you want to."

She wanted to ask how experienced he was but she was certain she didn't actually want the answer to that question. She didn't want to seem completely inadequate compared to the other girls he had presumably slept with.

"Hey," he murmured and Hermione glanced at him, her jaw clenched. He must have read the worry on her face. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's fine," Hermione said, attempting flippancy. "I'm not opposed to it. We'll just give it some time, if that's alright."

"Of course it's alright," he said softly. He swiped a thumb across her cheekbone. "And in case you were wondering, you're the only one I've actually wanted a relationship with."

"That's good," she breathed.

"Note to self:" he murmured, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they left the Room of Requirement, "don't make jokes about sex." But he was grinning, his eyes bright and Hermione smiled, grateful for the break in tension.

"I don't doubt it'll be good, for the record," Hermione said, feeling some of the uncharacteristic shyness that had taken her dissipate.

"You have no idea," he growled, with a nip to her earlobe, " _yet_." Hermione shivered as the sensation and his words shot down her spine.

Malfoy turned to her when they arrived at Ravenclaw Tower, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Hermione reached her own around his back, and again it felt more natural than she ever would have imagined when she moved closer.

"Goodnight, Granger," he said, pressing a kiss to her lips. "Sleep well."

"I will," she whispered when he pulled away. "Good night."

With a half smile, he turned and walked away. Hermione floated up the staircase to Ravenclaw Tower, absently answered the riddle and made her way to her dorm.

"How's Draco?" Helena asked flippantly without looking up from where she was organizing several quills. Hermione only bit her lower lip and smiled lazily. Helena looked up, her brow furrowing in surprise at Hermione's expression. "Oh, wow, Hermione." The brunette nodded, the smile growing. Helena gave Hermione a hug, whispering, "I am so happy for you."

And as Hermione grasped her friend, blinking back the sudden and mournful tears, she felt bittersweet.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello, and thank you all so much for you lovely and continued support on this fic! I so greatly appreciate every review, follow and favourite. I haven't had a chance to respond personally but I won't have much free time this weekend. I hope you enjoy xoxo
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

The next morning at breakfast, Hermione received a missive from Rowena Ravenclaw. A quick glance at Malfoy across the hall confirmed he received one as well. They were to meet with the professor that afternoon in the Room of Requirement.

Classes would resume the following day and many of the students who had left for the Winter Solstice had already returned, or would return later that day.

The sun was out, warming the large banks of snow across the grounds, and Hermione, in an attempt to keep a sudden swell of nerves at bay, joined an impromptu snowball fight between a group of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students.

Hermione grinned as Helena ambushed a Gryffindor male, laughing as she did so. It was nice to see Helena had perked up through the week; Hermione had been at a loss when the girl had been so morose. Idly she wondered if the Gryffindor boy was the one Helena was interested in courting.

To Hermione's surprise, Malfoy strolled over, wrapped tightly in her Ravenclaw scarf, and with a mischievous smile, shoved a handful of snow into her face.

Gasping sharply at the cold and the affront, Hermione grabbed a handful of snow and dumped it into his fine blond hair. He merely shook his hair out like a dog, drops of cold moisture flying off and hitting Hermione.

He grinned widely, his grey eyes sparkling. Hermione huffed mockingly.

"You are –" she began, eyes narrowed.

"Magnificent?" he interrupted with a smirk, brows high. "An excellent student and a fantastic boyfriend?"

Hermione swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Was it so official, then?

"Boyfriend?" she repeated, the word coming out faint. A part of her wanted to laugh at the thought of using the words  _boyfriend_  and  _Draco Malfoy_  in the same sentence. A larger, more dominant part, wanted to jump and tell the world.

"Yes," he said firmly, meeting her eyes. Then he faltered. "If you want, that is."

"I want," she breathed, holding the stare of those beautiful eyes. Her eyes flickered to his mouth and he followed the movement.

They broke apart, remembering where they were, when a large snowball exploded on Hermione's shoulder. Hermione turned in the direction of the offending snowball, and saw Helena watching them with a wry smile.

Malfoy rolled his eyes but took a step back. "I'm not sure whether  _boyfriend_  was a term widely used in this century," he said softly and Hermione nodded, taking the hint and warning. He cast a quick  _Tempus_  charm. "Come on, we'll be late meeting Ravenclaw."

Hermione jolted, realizing the snowball fight had gone through lunch. With a quick wave to Helena, who was still watching them with humour, Hermione fell into step with Malfoy and they made their way back toward the castle.

* * *

Hermione had perused her copy of Ravenclaw's research prior to leaving her dorm for breakfast that morning, in order to be at least somewhat familiar with it. Ravenclaw had been honest when she said the research was still theoretical; but the knowledge didn't bother Hermione as much as it might have. At the very least, the woman knew now, and would be able to help them.

She still could scarcely believe that months of research between her and Malfoy had been countered with one simple wave of Ravenclaw's wand.

But she couldn't be upset – not when the hours spent researching had brought them together.

She glanced at him as they walked and he was already watching her through dark lashes, a crooked smirk on his face. His fingers played against hers until he took her hand, entwining them.

When Ravenclaw walked into the Room of Requirement, minutes after they arrived, she merely stared at the two of them for a long moment, as if she still couldn't quite believe they had arrived from the future.

"I spent all night thinking," the professor said by way of greeting, "and I cannot say why you were brought here." She stared between them once more. "The only thing I can think is that I must have had a reason to bring the two of  _you_ , specifically. If this portal you claim to have found opened randomly, how would it not have allowed other students through in a  _thousand_  years?"

"Maybe it does, and you don't realize it," Malfoy said with a shrug. "Or after your time?"

"Perhaps," Ravenclaw permitted, "although I would like to think, now that I know it is possible, I will be very careful with the portal."

"But you don't need to know why you brought us here in order to send us home, do you?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

"I do not believe that to be the case, no," the professor admitted, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "Which means I may learn the truth years later – but for the time being, as soon as I can determine how the portal is built, I may build it and you may return home."

"You seem to have a few ideas," Malfoy said, gesturing to the translated copy of the notes before him.

"Yes," Ravenclaw said thoughtfully. "But as you see, none are fully formed. I will attempt to return you to the day you left – the fifteenth of January – despite what day you leave here from. We rapidly approach the day in question. But it will make the magic more complex."

"I suppose that will result in fewer questions," Hermione said softly. Ravenclaw nodded sharply.

"Indeed it will," Rowena agreed. She stared at the research for a long moment, her eyes darting rapidly across the parchment. "I believe I have an idea of how I might build this localized portal – as a means of developing a physical conduit which might hold and conduct the time magic. It will be more stable than an object."

"Like a Portkey," Malfoy offered.

"Yes," Ravenclaw said with a nod. "While a Portkey may be viable for travelling distance, I believe time to be far more unstable a dimension. Although if I may imbue the portal with a modified variation of the  _Portus_  charm, meant for time rather than distance…" The woman trailed off, evidently caught in her own thoughts. She glanced up sharply. "It could work. But it will take time to build the layers of the magic – and perhaps a few tries. I would not send you through unless I was certain it would work."

"Well, that's a relief," Malfoy muttered under his breath.

Ravenclaw ignored him but for a slight twitch of her lips. "I would ask that you might show me exactly where you found this portal."

The two students walked with Ravenlaw to the courtyard, ignoring the majority of curious looks from other students and professors. With the exception of one.

"Rowena," Slytherin said briskly, eyeing them with interest. "Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger."

"Hello, Salazar," Ravenclaw responded. Malfoy shoved his hands in his pockets, nodding and Hermione nodded as well, offering the professor a small smile.

"A fascinating group together, to be sure," Slytherin said, staring between the three of them, his dark eyes lingering. A hint of humour graced his lips. "I might accuse you of house favouritism, Rowena, were you not also with a member of my own house."

"We are merely discussing early NEWT preparations," Ravenclaw said easily.

"Of course," Slytherin said, a tilt to his head. "I would expect nothing less from these two students." The man gave the three of them a tight-lipped smile before carrying on.

"Do be cautious with him," Rowena said quietly as they continued walking. "As I said yesterday, Salazar is very curious about where you have come from. I do not yet understand the magic we will be using well enough to say what sort of adverse reactions we may come across, in others knowing."

"We found this upon arriving," Malfoy volunteered, handing Rowena the slip of parchment that had appeared in his pocket explaining how they would be unable to affect the future. The means by which they had learned Ravenclaw was involved at all.

"Indeed," Rowena breathed, staring at the parchment, wide-eyed. "This is very complicated magic, then. And you did not think to simply show this to me, after all this time?"

Hermione glanced sheepishly to Malfoy. His gaze flickered to her but he merely shrugged.

"Like we said, we did not know how you might take the news," he said, his voice strong. He looked to Hermione, his hand playing across her lower back. "And we do not regret the time we have spent here."

Ravenclaw's eyebrows flickered knowingly, even as Hermione's heart fluttered at his words. "I suppose not," the woman permitted.

They entered the courtyard and Hermione ran a hand over the, unsurprisingly, blank stone wall.

"It was through here," she said quietly. "A long, narrow passageway, overgrown with vines. And at the end, a doorway."

"And the buzzing," Malfoy added. "There was a loud buzzing noise, which drew Granger to see what it was, and myself by extension. The buzzing grew louder as we walked nearer." He ran a hand along the wall as well, remembering the night they had transported back in time.

"And the doorway?" Rowena questioned.

"It was a blur," Hermione said with a glance at Malfoy. "The moment the door opened, the buzzing intensified, coupled with a bright light and a strong gust of wind."

"A significant magical event," Ravenclaw said, contemplating, "would require a great expulsion of energy."

"It was certainly that," Malfoy said quietly.

"The passage lingered long enough for us to walk out into the courtyard," Hermione added, "but by the time we came back to look, it was gone."

"I have much to ponder," Ravenclaw said. "I thank you for your time and information." With a nod, the woman left them in the otherwise empty courtyard.

Malfoy turned to Hermione, leaning back against the blank stone wall, his brows high.

"Does it feel weird to think we might be going home soon?" he asked, meeting her gaze.

"Yes," Hermione said, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. "Although we still have no idea how long all of Ravenclaw's planning and testing will take."

"True. Hard to believe we've been here for four months already," he said quietly. He absently traced the cracks between the stones, as if deep in thought.

"Very much," Hermione murmured, even as she carefully bent down, his back facing her, and stood with a large handful of snow. She stepped closer, lifting her arms as if to wrap them around him, and smashed the snow into his face.

"Granger!" he exclaimed, grey eyes narrowed as he wiped the snow from his face. "You are going to regret that, you know."

"Am I?" she taunted quietly, meeting his gaze even as he captured her wrists, backing her into the wall.

"Yes," he breathed, smirking, his breath mingling with hers. He dropped a kiss to her jaw, his free hand digging into her hair.

Hermione felt her breath catch, her heart beginning to race at the feel of him pressed against her, his soft lips on her. She angled away from the wall, maneuvering a foot behind his ankles, sweeping his feet out from under him and pushing him into a large, pillowy snowbank that had built up along the wall.

Even before the shock and vengeance registered in his eyes Hermione took off across the courtyard, gasping in exhilaration as he easily caught up to her with his longer stride. He threw her over his shoulder and tossed her gently into another snowbank, quickly covering her in snow.

Hermione shook off the snow, and laughing despite the cold, drew him by the wrist into the bank along with her.

Grinning as well, his grey eyes lit up, he pulled her closer and kissed her.

* * *

Hermione could have laughed and cried simultaneously, the next morning at breakfast as she sat staring blankly at a sheet of parchment Helena had just handed her.

"Now that we are back to classes from the Solstice," Helena was saying, as she also distributed matching sheets of parchment to Pollux, Tania and Heath, "we ought to begin preparing for NEWTs."

Hermione had a very real flashback of herself, crafting her NEWT study schedule just a handful of months ago, a thousand years in the future. She found herself admiring the precise organizational work Helena had done, the neat, miniscule script.

"This is beautiful," Hermione said, as she peered closer at the revision schedule.

"Thank you," Helena said, flushing. "I take my exams very seriously."

"As do I," Hermione said, tucking the sheet carefully into her bag. For a brief moment, she wondered what would happen if she tried to smuggle Helena into the future with her. But the thought of leaving Helena behind threatened to overwhelm her, as it always did.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Helena asked quietly, as they left the Great Hall for their first class. The girl's intuitive, clever eyes met Hermione's. "You have seemed quite sad lately. Are you and Draco not happy together?"

"Oh, that isn't it at all," Hermione said with a glance at Helena, allowing a smile at the thought of him. "I suppose I just miss home, some days." It wasn't a  _lie_ , really.

Helena stared at her for a long moment, as if torn by how to respond.

"Forgive me, Hermione, if I suspect that  _home_  for you is not the rainforests of Castelobruxo," Helena said softly. Hermione swallowed, her eyes flickering around quickly. They were indeed alone. Helena continued, "you are different than anyone I have ever met. Not only in character, but in disposition. Draco, also."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her tone even. "We came to Hogwarts from Castelobruxo, but home originally is England."

"I mean…" Helena trailed off with a sigh. "I do not know what I mean. If I did not know any better, I would think you had come from a different time altogether."

Hermione stared blankly, her brow furrowed, feeling suddenly cold. Helena jolted, her eyes widening in comprehension.

"I do not mean to pry, Hermione," Helena said softly, startled by Hermione's change in demeanour. "If you desire to carry secrets unshared, it is certainly not my place to ask. I must assume you do so for good reason."

"There are things I cannot share," Hermione said, unable to look directly at Helena. "But not for lack of trust in you."

"I understand," Helena replied, "and you may know that if you should choose to unburden yourself, I will tell no other." The girl's gaze shot to Hermione briefly. "There are very few things in the magical world I consider to be impossible, especially growing up around my mother."

"I can imagine," Hermione said quietly, smiling.

"Come," Helena said, her tone equally soft, "we will be late for class."

* * *

Despite her best efforts, Hermione couldn't shake the encounter with Helena for anything. The girl's subtle declarations had suggested she  _had_ figured it out – and Hermione knew her own lack of denial was telling.

Would it be so terrible to tell Helena the truth, to have someone else to talk to? More importantly, so Helena would understand when Hermione simply left one day? She greatly wanted to warn her friend; perhaps the girl could stay away from Waldo in the future. But she knew, inherently, Helena's tragic future was fated to happen.

The thought of affecting the future somehow, by creating so drastic a rift in the fabric of time that it might supersede the rules of the time portal, made Hermione cringe. If Helena did not leave the diadem in Albania, if Voldemort never made it into a Horcrux – what else might have been different?

Even Salazar, with his Chamber of Secrets – the basilisk had been instrumental in destroying Tom Riddle's diary, and its venom likewise with others. The causality over a thousand years was endless.

But even so, the thought of Helena had been a crushing weight on her heart all day.

She glanced at Malfoy, realizing she hadn't heard a word he had been saying, later that night as they sat on the worn couch by the fire in the Room of Requirement.

She forced a smile and tucked herself deeper into his chest, his arms around her.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his own smile faltering. She had always been bad at pretending – and he could see through her, so easily.

"Ghosts," Hermione murmured. "Can we talk about ghosts?" She blinked away the sudden and embarrassing tears.

"Yeah," he said, softly, his brow furrowed. "What about ghosts?"

"Why do they linger? Why do you think Helena and Waldo linger, so many years later?" She picked at a thread on the upholstery of the couch to avoid his gaze.

"It is difficult to say," he said slowly, "especially if their deaths didn't come about in the way the story is told."

"Ghosts are restless spirits," she murmured, attempting to reason through the emotions. "And they are trapped due to – I don't know, some tragic end, or something yet to be done, right?"

"Right," he confirmed, "generally. There are those who think ghosts are the spirits of those who have been punished for their deeds by being forced to linger after death, in a miserable, endless existence." Hermione nearly choked on a sob at the thought. "And those who believe the spirits linger because of something unfinished or unresolved. Most believe all ghosts fall into one category or the other. Penance or tragedy."

"Which do you think Helena and Waldo face, back home?" she asked, turning her mournful gaze on him.

"I'd like to think they both exist in the latter," he said quietly. "Though if the story is true and Waldo  _did_  kill Helena, I fear he might be the former."

"Can spirits be set free?" Hermione asked, softly, the question that had been plaguing her almost consistently.

"I honestly would have to look into it," he said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "But I think they can. If they are somehow brought to peace."

"How can we give Helena peace," Hermione whispered, staring unseeingly at the floor. "Both of them. If we can't help them here, while they still live, there must be something we can do to help them in death."

But even Hermione could hear the hopeless despair in her voice. It had already been a thousand years.

"We need to find out the truth," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, drawing her into his chest. "We would need to find out  _why_  they linger, and what it is they are unable to escape."

"She is too good for her fate," Hermione said, shaking her head, unable to keep the tears at bay.

"I know," he murmured. "We can try to figure it out. But we will first need to know what actually happened."

"Thank you," Hermione breathed, grasping his arm that held her tight. "I can not imagine being here without you."

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes stormy. "Neither can I. You have made this experience not only tolerable but worthwhile. And eye-opening in so many ways."

Hermione pressed a kiss to his jaw and fell silent, gazing absently into the flames.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you so much to all you lovely readers! I am so grateful for the support on this fic. I can hardly believe we're at chapter 14 already :) Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Over the following week, without the heavy burden of researching a way home hanging over them, Hermione felt as if she could relax. However slightly, given that NEWTs were approaching, regardless of which time period she was in. If they happened to still be in this era when NEWTs arrived, she needed to be prepared.

And if they made it back home – Hermione almost cringed at the thought of studying different material for the past four months.

She spent more time with Helena and the other Ravenclaws, studying and working on assignments in the library. To her surprise and delight, Malfoy often joined them, as naturally as if he was an eagle himself, and the other Ravenclaws were nothing but welcoming.

It was another surreal moment, to think that her housemates and friends were wholly accepting of the two of them, without so much as a hesitation.

They were careful to keep touching to a minimum around other students, given they didn't quite know the specifics of how students here courted one another, and didn't mean to arouse suspicion.

But having him there, by her side, with her housemates, meant more to Hermione than she could rightly express to him. She suspected he knew, with the private smiles he would offer, the way his hand would graze hers under the table.

It almost made her feel like no more than a student again, with nothing greater than year-end exams with which to concern herself.

And getting to know him so easily, so effortlessly – it made it all too easy to care for him.

Malfoy had begun to habitually walk Hermione to Ravenclaw Tower and one night as they were leaving the library, she slung her book bag over a shoulder, the weight of it causing her to falter and wince.

Malfoy glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. He reached out a hand, tentatively lifting the bag off her shoulder, testing the weight of it, his eyes widening.

"What are you carrying in here, France?" he asked teasingly.

"Just my class and study materials," Hermione said defensively. "Ravenclaw Tower is too far to travel up and down several times a day – and besides, if you enter too many times in one day the riddles grow exponentially more difficult as a challenge."

He rolled his eyes, even as a knowing smirk graced his lips. He easily looped his hand under the strap, lifting the bag and slinging it over his own shoulder.

"I'm perfectly capable of carrying it myself," she said, reaching to take it back.

"Of course you are," he said softly. "Carry mine then, if you want to so badly."

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione relieved him of his own satchel, finding it significantly lighter as she slipped it over her shoulder.

"How do you carry so little?" she questioned. "We have the same course load."

"I don't require every single text, inkwell and moving staircase to be shoved into my bag at all times," he smirked.

"You're incorrigible," Hermione hissed, eyes narrowed in faux irritability as she lightly swatted his arm and he pretended to stagger under the weight of her bag.

As she rounded the corner, distracted as she was, Hermione nearly walked into Salazar Slytherin. The man stared at her, his brow furrowed, before glancing to her companion, his face expressionless.

"Professor Slytherin," Hermione gasped. "My apologies, I didn't see you." Malfoy tilted his head in acknowledgement and Slytherin returned the gesture.

"Evidently," the man said drily. "Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger. I cannot say I am surprised to find the two of you together."

Hermione shifted as she glanced at Malfoy, who was simply gazing at the head of his house.

"We do spend a lot of time together," Malfoy drawled after a long moment of silence. "I was just walking Granger to Ravenclaw Tower."

"How noble of you," Slytherin said, his lips twitching. Malfoy offered the professor a smirk. It seemed Slytherin was in a pleasant mood. "Studying for NEWTs, I suspect?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said with a tight smile.

"Excellent," Slytherin responded, glancing between them once more. "One can never be too prepared for their own future."

"Very true, Professor," Malfoy said, raising one brow.

"And what is it the two of you intend to do once you are finished your time at Hogwarts?" Slytherin asked.

Hermione itched to escape his presence but she said, "I mean to work at the –" she cut herself off, eyes wide as Malfoy subtly kicked her, horrified at the near slip. "With magical creatures, Professor."

"As a Magizoologist?" he asked, head tilted in surprise. "How fascinating. I would not have guessed you had such a passion for the course. Helga will be thrilled."

"Yes," Hermione said blankly, still kicking herself for nearly saying she intended to apply at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, when the Ministry of Magic itself wouldn't be established for some seven hundred years.

"And you?" Slytherin asked, turning his dark eyes to Malfoy.

"I intend to pursue a mastery in Potioneering," he said easily. "I would like to have my own apothecary one day."

Hermione couldn't keep her attention from shifting to her companion – in all their time together, the subject had never come up. And the quick ease with which he answered the question suggested the interest to be legitimate. Hermione found she wasn't surprised – and quite thought he would be good at it.

"Good," Slytherin said quietly. If Hermione wasn't mistaken, she thought she saw a glimmer of pride in the man's countenance and a swell of the same rose in her heart. "You should have spoken to me sooner – I will help you prepare for your mastery."

"Thank you, Professor," the blond responded, with a gracious bow of the head. "I will come to your office this week."

"Very well," Slytherin said with a final nod. "Carry on, then. It is nearly curfew."

Then the man swept away with a billowing of robes.

Hermione turned to Malfoy as they continued walking. "I didn't know you meant to pursue a mastery," she said.

"I suppose it just never came up," he said with a shrug. "While stuck here, my future profession hasn't exactly been top of mind. Though it won't hurt to talk to Slytherin about it before we return."

"I can see it," she said, smiling. He glanced at her, raising his eyebrows in silent question. "You, having your own apothecary."

"Well," he said, running a hand through his hair. "That is, if the general wizarding populace deigns to enter the front door. My father always claimed I would have no need to work – but I can't imagine  _not_ , you know? Just sitting in the Manor, entertaining boring societal guests. That isn't the life I want for myself."

"I know exactly what you mean," Hermione said, slipping her hand into his.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, and Hermione threw her arms around his shoulders as she kissed him, having to tear herself away with a murmured, "good night."

"Good night," he responded, pressing another kiss to her temple before he traded their satchels and with a smirk, turned and walked away.

* * *

"Tell me something you miss from home," Hermione said as she lounged on one side of the couch in the Room of Requirement, some days later.

"Quidditch," he said easily, popping a grape into his mouth from the plate of food they had smuggled in.

Hermione snorted. "I should have known. Have you got a team?"

"Of course," he said, giving her a curious look. "I've had season tickets to the Falmouth Falcons since I was young. Except for the last few years."

"I shouldn't be surprised by that either," she teased, breaking off a chunk of bread.

"No, you shouldn't," he said lightly. "What's your team?"

"I don't have one," Hermione shrugged. "I don't much care for Quidditch."

"You don't even have a team?" He smirked, adjusting their position so she was beside him and Hermione instinctively relaxed into his arms. "This from the girl who had a fling with the greatest Seeker of our time."

"He was just Viktor to me," she said, raising a brow.

"Well, the next time you see  _Viktor_  you ought to get me an autograph," he said with a grin, tugging her closer.

Hermione didn't mention it, but thought it said rather a lot about his trust in her that he didn't dispute the potential of her seeing Viktor again, someday. Not that she had any particular inclination to do so. They had been friends first, of course, but the lines on even that were rather blurred.

"If I ever see him again, you'll just have to come with me," she said, planting a swift kiss on his lips.

"Deal," he breathed against her mouth, playing with her curls. He stared at her for a long moment, as if deep in thought, before he leaned back.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked, an unassuming smile hovering on his features. "And nothing meant by it."

"Of course," Hermione asked, smiling in return.

"Is it the idea of sex in general that makes you nervous?" he asked, softly, "or sex with  _me_ , specifically?"

Hermione swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, forcing herself to hold his gaze. Steeling herself, she said, "I suppose it's that you're so much more experienced than me. I don't –" She looked away. "I don't want to disappoint you."

He stared at her for a long moment, his lips parted and brow furrowed in disbelief.

"Disappoint me?" he choked out finally. "Seriously?"

Hermione gave a noncommittal sort of shrug.

"Hermione," he breathed, leaning in. She felt a shiver creep the length of her spine at the way her name rolled off his tongue. "I'm a teenage male. We're hard to disappoint."

"I suppose," Hermione murmured, but despite herself, she couldn't help but laugh. Maybe she was thinking too far into it as always.

"And even if that wasn't the case," he said softly, "I don't truly believe you could. I think I'm far too hung up on you for that to be the case."

Hermione felt a strange flutter in her stomach at his admission, as she met his sparkling gaze.

"Besides," he went on, "I'm not  _that_  much more experienced than you are."

"But that day in the library…" Hermione trailed off, horrified to feel her face heating, and looked away.

"I wasn't lying," he said with a shrug. "I  _do_  know a few students who are like that. But certainly not many."

"Oh,"Hermione said quietly, unable to quite meet his gaze.

"Also consider the fact that, that day in the library, I was trying to figure out if you were interested in me," he said flippantly, "and it's  _so_  easy to get a rise out of you."

But he was staring at her, his eyes warm with affection.

"So you were exaggerating," Hermione said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips now.

"Maybe a little," he said, rolling his eyes as he took her hand. "But if you honestly want to know, I'll tell you."

"I don't want details," Hermione said and he chuckled softly. She lifted her eyes to his. "How many?"

He held her gaze. "Three."

Hermione blinked, unsure whether she was surprised. Did three seem like a lot? Maybe not, given what she had allowed herself to think.

But beneath the smirk he looked nervous as he asked, "do you want to know who?"

"Sure," Hermione said quietly, attempting a dismissive flicker of her brows.

Malfoy stared at her for a long moment, then ran a hand through his hair.

"Pansy – once." He shuddered and Hermione snickered. "Fifth year. She was so clingy afterwards it wasn't worth it. That summer, there was a girl from Beauxbatons, the daughter of a friend of my mother's. It never went anywhere. She was  _so_  vapid."

He glanced at Hermione with a roll of his eyes and she laughed, despite the nerves that had overtaken her.

"During sixth year, I had… an  _arrangement_  of sorts with Daphne Greengrass. I was stressed out, trying to deal with  _him_  and his impossible demands; she wanted to get out of a betrothal her father had arranged." He shrugged, looking away. "The betrothal was called off when they learned Daph had  _sacrificed_  her virtue." He snorted.

"How archaic," Hermione breathed.

"I told you, that sort of thing still happens in our time," he said lightly. "Anyway, Daph and I messed around from time to time that year. But it was never romantic between us. I didn't have the time or the energy to give her. She called it off at the start of seventh when she caught Theo's eye."

"That isn't as bad as I was expecting," Hermione admitted. Though something else bothered her. She glanced up at him, her fingers tightening around his. "Was sixth year a complete nightmare for you?"

He held her gaze and she could see the shadows in his grey eyes as he breathed, "yes." He took a deep breath. "So was seventh, if I'm honest. With the Carrows running things."

"I can't imagine," Hermione said quietly.

"It was best you weren't there," he admitted, meeting her eyes again with a pained expression. "They wanted  _us_  to discipline the younger students. Which was better, I suppose. Theo found a spell to block the nerve receptors so we just told the younger students to  _act_  as if it hurt."

Her heart stumbled a beat at the admission, and she jolted at how the conversation had shifted.

"Of course, sometimes the Carrows themselves found students, and there was no helping them in those situations," he said thickly.

"I wish I would have been there for you, then," Hermione said. He held her gaze for a long moment.

"I wouldn't have given you a chance," he said softly. "In sixth year, especially, I spent every moment of every day  _terrified_  I was going to make a mistake and the cost would be my parents' lives. I stopped caring about my own, because I knew if I succeeded, I wouldn't want to go on, anyway. Not  _knowing_ what I'd done."

Hermione's next breath caught in her throat as she stared at him, lost for words. He cleared his throat, his hand in hers clammy.

"That day, when the Snatchers brought you and Potter and Weasley to my house." He hesitated, chewing his lip. "I thought that was going to be it. I needed Potter to win, if there was ever going to be a way out. But then…"

He trailed off and Hermione squeezed his hand. She had never seen him so vulnerable and it made her heart ache.

"I told myself I didn't care when my aunt tortured you, but your screams haunted my nightmares for months. Maybe I was just too far gone." He met her eyes, his brows high, his face honest.

"You weren't," she insisted, feeling a tear slide down her cheek. "Ultimately, you saved us. I never had a chance to thank you for that day."

He dropped his head to her hair, exhaling a ragged breath. He wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"I don't deserve you," he murmured into her hair.

Hermione had never realized, beneath the swagger and the bravado, how broken he'd been by those events. She shifted in his hold, facing him, her knees straddling him.

"Draco," she whispered shakily, tracing the panes of his face with her hands. "You deserve happiness and peace, as much as anyone else.  _Please_ , never forget that."

He caught her hand with his, leaning his cheek into her fingers. His eyes briefly fluttered shut then opened to meet hers.

"I've already found it," he breathed. "Being here, with you…" A ghost of a smirk lit his face. "You called me Draco."

"Draco," she whispered again, her eyes alight as they met his. She pressed a kiss to his lips, her tongue grazing his. " _Draco_ ," she purred, drawing out the syllables. He shuddered as he drew her in, kissing her deeply, his hands going to her waist as hers slid into his hair.

Hermione melted into him as his tongue met hers, her heart pounding against her chest, her mind awash with the sensations he could always make her feel. As she pressed herself closer to him, basking in the feel of his hands on her, the swelling of heat in her core, a quiet voice in the back of her mind suggested it might be nice to let go and experience the many things he could make her feel.

But even as she could feel the evidence of his arousal, he broke the kiss, resting his forehead on hers, their ragged breaths mingled.

Malfoy lifted her off his lap, seating her once more beside him as he wrapped his arms tightly around her and Hermione sunk into his warmth.

The thought occurred to Hermione that things might change between them when they returned home – as it had been prone to do lately – but she shoved it away at the sparkle in his grey eyes.

She hoped that wouldn't be something they would have to deal with.

* * *

They absently made their way through the empty hallways at the end of the night, neither in a rush to separate. They both jumped, startled, at a noise the next corridor over and anxiously stepped apart.

"We'd better get back to the dorms, it's nearly curfew," Hermione said, making to walk in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower.

But Malfoy held a finger to his lips, drawing her tighter to the wall by the arm. He gave her a glance and then peered around the corner.

"It's Waldo and Helena," he breathed.

Hermione glanced sidelong at him, stepping in closer almost subconsciously.

"How odd," Hermione whispered. She strained to listen, even her breathing falling silent.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be, Waldo Baron?" Helena Ravenclaw was saying, her voice rising. Hermione stepped forward, drawing her wand when Malfoy held out his arm to keep her from revealing them. He gave her a look and she realized he already had his own wand drawn. With a short nod, Hermione stepped back.

"Like where?" Baron asked, his voice sounding resigned.

"Like with Cornelia Nott!" Helena spat. Hermione tensed as footfalls grew nearer and she edged further down the wall away from the corner, Malfoy following her.

"You know I…" Baron paused then sighed. The footsteps halted. "Helena…"

There was something in the way he said her name, as an exhale, a gentle caress of the syllables that made Hermione's heart skip, her eyes wide and Malfoy met her gaze, his lips parted in confusion.

A second set of footsteps joined the first.

"You  _know_  I don't care for Cornelia Nott," Baron said softly, "and I have no intentions of marrying her.  _You're_  the one I care for."

Malfoy's jaw dropped as he turned to Hermione, mouthing 'what the fuck!' and Hermione's mind began to race. How could she have missed this? It was  _Waldo_  that Helena fancied?

"But your father will never allow it," Helena said, her voice wavering slightly.

"My father can rot," Baron said flatly. "Once we are away from Hogwarts and he cannot find me and control me any longer, you and I will go wherever in this wide world we choose and we will wed. Start a new life together."

"Do you mean it, Waldo?" Helena asked, softly.

"Truly, I do," Baron responded. There was a quiet rustling in a moment of silence between the two. "You are my one and only and will always remain so."

"And you are mine," Helena said. "Oh, then I cannot wait to be away from here."

"Only the rest of this year, my love, and we can stop pretending. It pains me so, to act as if I do not care for you," Baron said and there was more rustling. Malfoy glanced around the corner, his eyes widening.

"Come on," he murmured, nudging her down the hallway away from the couple.

"What on earth was that?" Hermione questioned once they were out of earshot.

"Bloody unexpected, is what it was," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "I never would have guessed."

Hermione paused in the middle of the hallway, mind racing. Malfoy pulled her behind an elaborate green and gold tapestry that led to a small room with dark walls covered in bookcases. Hermione was momentarily distracted as she looked appraisingly around the hidden room.

"How have we missed this?" Hermione breathed, glancing to him. "If they have been together all along? But why act?"

"Because if his father found out, Helena would be put at great risk," he said shortly. "From what I understand, Waldo's father is incredibly strict and carries  _extreme_  blood prejudice."

"The story, the one of the Bloody Baron and Helena Ravenclaw in Albania," Hermione began, looking to Malfoy. "Helena didn't hate Waldo after all… she..." Hermione swallowed heavily as she trailed off.

"She loved him," Malfoy finished softly. He stared at her, his brow furrowed. "So then what really happened? How did they actually die and why do they both linger a thousand years later?"

"And if she loved him," Hermione went on, "why would she tell such a story as to vilify him for eternity? Was the truth so much worse? Or did things go so wrong between them?"

"Furthermore," Malfoy carried on, running with the conversation, "if he didn't kill her in a heartbreak-induced rage, why the chains? What else could he be doing penance for?"

The both stopped and stared at one another, emotionally spent.

"I think," Hermione said, looking to her companion, deep in thought, "these are questions we will find no answers to as the answers have not yet come to pass."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Here is chapter 15, friends. Thanks so much for all the love and support with this fic so far! It's greatly appreciated.
> 
> I hope you enjoy xoxo cait.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

In the days that followed, Hermione kept a careful eye on Helena. She couldn't figure out how she hadn't guessed that Helena and Waldo were secretly involved. Looking back with hindsight, there  _had_  been hints, however obscure.

The way Helena had referenced being interested in someone she couldn't rightly have. The way Helena had been so upset at the ball. It likely wasn't because of something Waldo had said, but because of whom he had escorted.

But as Hermione watched her friend closely, it became apparent why she hadn't caught on. Helena did not so much as  _look_  at Baron at meals, in classes, in the corridors – unless Baron was being intentionally antagonistic.

And it was only now that she knew, that she could tell Baron's heart wasn't in the words he spat.

Hermione wondered why they might not just simply ignore one another, rather than pretending to be violently opposed to the other's existence, and thus drawing attention to themselves.

When she brought up the thought to Malfoy, he had hesitated. He suggested that perhaps either they had already been at each other's throats  _before_  and they needed to maintain that appearance after they got together – or it was simply to distract others from the thought that they might possibly care for one another.

She supposed her own views had coloured things, as well. She had simply seen Helena and Waldo as a long-ago version of herself and Malfoy, before the war, and hadn't even bothered to entertain the thought.

She knew the blond was observing his Slytherin friend as well but the truth had only generated more questions than it had answered.

Hermione had initially wanted to charge forward and confront Helena, but her companion had quickly put a halt to that idea the next day.

"Think of it this way," Malfoy had said, running a hand through his hair, "they didn't tell us because it would put Helena at risk if word got out and his father heard. It's an acceptable reason. If you barrel on through their hidden relationship like a Gryffindor, it could expose them."

Hermione had narrowed her eyes but conceded he was most likely correct, Slytherin as he was.

"But then what actually happened?" she had hissed, ceasing in her pacing long enough to face him, shaking her head. "Waldo's unrequited love was…  _requited_  after all. So  _why_  are they ghosts? Do you suppose it's related to his father?"

"I don't know," he had said quietly. "But clearly, theirs isn't to be an easy love story."

The thought had brought on another revelation, so crushing and sickening that it had made her head spin.

The closer they got to returning home, as Ravenclaw worked on developing the portal day by day, the closer the possibility also came that Hermione might never have the chance to figure out why Helena lingered on as a ghost.

And she couldn't very well request more time, as that would require explaining the situation at least to a certain extent, which they had agreed would only make Ravenclaw more distraught and potentially cause some sort of terrible chain of events.

If Ravenclaw walked up to them one day and said the portal was ready, they would have to go in a timely manner, whether or not they had solved the problem of Helena and Waldo.

Which nearly made Hermione confront her friend all over again.

* * *

"Are you going to the library this evening?" Hermione had asked conversationally, the third morning after they had learned about her and Waldo.

"Yes," Helena said with a nod as she buttered a slice of bread. "After dinner. Then I am helping some third years with Charms."

"Good," Hermione had said simply. She knew Helena sometimes tutored younger students. Or did she – were the  _third years_  Waldo? "I'll join you."

"Wonderful," Helena said, smiling broadly. "I sometimes feel as if we rarely see you anymore, now that you and Draco are courting."

Hermione gave her a sheepish smile. She knew it was true, though she had made more of an effort to work with her fellow Ravenclaws recently, especially now that they weren't constantly researching Rowena's code.

"I'll try to be around more," she said, and meant it. Maybe if Helena trusted her more, she would tell her about Waldo. "You know how it is," Hermione said, attempting to keep her tone light, "sometimes you get to know someone and they take over your thoughts."

"I am sure it is nice," Helena mused, taking a long sip of her juice. "And Hermione, I do not mean anything negative by it. I am happy you and Draco so enjoy one another's company."

"I appreciate that," Hermione nodded. She took a quick glance around, turning to Helena. "You are a wonderful friend. I hope you know I am here for you, if you ever need to talk."

A subtle nudge never hurt anyone, she decided.

"I know," Helena said, turning to Hermione with a warm smile. "You have become the best friend I never had before, Hermione."

Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat as Helena laid a hand on hers. She nodded, forcing a smile, attempting to keep the tears at bay. She was trying to do this  _for_  Helena.

"As have you," she breathed softly. "And I mean it – if you ever need someone to listen…" she trailed off weakly.

Helena stared at Hermione for a long moment then, and something in her expression shifted. Her eyes flickered across the room before settling quickly back on Hermione's brown ones. Helena tilted her head, and Hermione felt as if the girl was truly  _seeing_  her, seeing  _through_  her.

"Then I will certainly come to you," Helena finally said, her words soft and clipped, heavy with significance. Then she smiled again. "Shall we go to class?"

* * *

Malfoy joined them in the library that evening, after Hermione had briefly informed him that Helena would be  _tutoring_  some younger students later on. He had simply raised a single pale brow in a significant way.

He slid into the open seat beside Hermione with a hand to her back, before drawing an assignment from his bag and silently proceeding to work.

The table was silent but for the rustling of parchment and the scratching of quills and Hermione settled into a sort of peace with her own work. It was nice, she thought, to work with others who were as studious as she. More than once, it had made her wonder what her original Hogwarts experience would have been like had she been sorted into Ravenclaw.

Some time later Helena quietly packed her things and prepared to leave with a smile.

Malfoy glanced up, as if surprised by how much time had passed and he quickly tucked his things away with a questioning look at Hermione. She inconspicuously put her essay away, mid-sentence and they made their excuses to take their leave shortly after Helena had left. The other Ravenclaws barely noticed.

Malfoy paused once outside of the library, eyes narrowed as he focused on the sound of Helena's fading footsteps. With a tilt of his head, he gestured down the corridor and Hermione quickly followed.

They dropped back, unwilling to let Helena hear them trailing her.

"What are we even going to do if we find them together?" Malfoy breathed with a glance at the brunette beside him.

Hermione shrugged, digging absently through her bag as she walked. "If we catch them meeting – or catch Waldo walking into the room, they will have to admit it to us and we can get more information." She pulled something out of her bag then, fleshy coloured and string-like.

"I forgot about those," he murmured, eyes wide as he took in the Extendable Ears they had discovered when they first arrived in the past.

"I didn't," she said casually, uncoiling the device. She had kept them safely tucked in her bag just in case, ever since he had returned them after that first day. "If we don't see them together, we can still attempt to get more information. Essentially, that's what we are hoping for, anyway. If we can learn more, it might give us a clue as to how things went so wrong between them."

"You're right," Malfoy said, reluctantly. "I suppose they don't need to know we know in order for us to help them when we get home."

"Exactly," Hermione murmured, glancing around the corner to see Helena walking into a classroom down the corridor. As they walked she felt her stomach flip with discomfort. She nervously chewed her lip.

He stared at her for a long moment. "I don't like it, either, so you know. Following her, attempting to listen in." Hermione made a face but she appreciated the sentiment.

Carefully but efficiently, he edged out after Helena, Hermione following quietly, her steps painfully light.

The door to the room was closed and they could faintly hear muffled conversation on the other side. Casting a quick disillusionment charm on them both, Hermione handed Malfoy one end of the Extendable Ears.

Hermione listened closely once the string was tucked in her own ear; she heard Helena's voice making general small talk about lessons.

Then another voice – but it wasn't Waldo's.

"She's actually tutoring third years," Malfoy muttered drily, sounding annoyed. "Well this was a waste."

Indeed, Hermione could tell the other voice was a younger student, followed by another – and they were asking questions about their Charms homework.

Hermione quickly plucked out her end of the Extendable Ears, her cheeks flushing with shame at having attempted to eavesdrop on her friend.

"They're good," Malfoy said, somewhat begrudgingly as he coiled the ears back into a circle and handed them back to Hermione. He shrugged. "We can try to follow Waldo next time."

"I don't want to follow either of them," Hermione said, chewing her lip again as they walked back down the corridor. "But… Helena won't admit to anything and I just… we need to know, don't we?"

"We do," he said, thoughtfully, "but maybe we can figure it all out once we get back home? We could try talking to Helena's ghost." He paused, making a face. "The Bloody Baron isn't much for conversation."

"We could try," Hermione said, deep in thought as she looked at him. "But what if she doesn't know enough for us to help? Or we're missing something  _here_  that we need to know."

"That's the risk," Malfoy said with a grimace. "I don't exactly know the protocol on liberating ghosts from endless misery."

Hermione sighed, leaning into him as he slung an arm around her shoulders.

"I want to go home, but I don't," she murmured. "It's hard to explain."

"I know exactly what you mean," he said, his hand rubbing her arm. "Now that we know Ravenclaw's working on the portal, there's a part of me that's anxious to return. But there's something really great about what we've established here."

"Right," Hermione said shortly. She didn't want to voice the fear that he wouldn't want to spend time with her anymore once they went home. Once they returned to the atmosphere in which they had always been enemies.

"We could go back to the library," he said softly with a shrug, "or we could go to the room and curl up in front of the fire together."

Hermione looked over at him, smiling at the way his grey eyes sparkled.

"The second one, please."

* * *

"Miss Granger, will you stay back for a minute, please?"

Hermione glanced up in surprise as she packed her things in Magizoology the following day. Helena gave her a shrug and left with the other Ravenclaws.

"Of course, Professor," Hermione said, brows furrowed as Helga Hufflepuff walked over to her work space. The woman assessed Hermione for a long moment, as the girl shifted uneasily. "Is something the matter with my work?"

"Your work?" Hufflepuff asked, taken aback. "No, certainly not."

"That's good," Hermione said, fidgeting with the quill she had been in the process of packing away.

"Salazar tells me you have an interest in further pursuing the study of magical creatures," Hufflepuff finally said. Hermione thought she detected pride in the woman's tone and her heart jolted as she saw the emotion on her professor's face.

"I do have a passion for magical creatures," Hermione confirmed, unable to say that it wasn't Magizoology she wanted to pursue, but a position at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"I am thrilled to hear it," Hufflepuff said quietly. "There are so few students who possess the necessary love and devotion to the other creatures in our world."

Hermione chewed her bottom lip, feeling bad for misleading the woman on her true intentions.

"Professor, may I ask you something?" she asked.

"Of course," Helga said, as if it were obvious.

"I find there to be rampant prejudice and judgement in the wizarding world towards many creatures," she began carefully, so as not to give too much away. "More specifically, sentient, human-like creatures such as werewolves and centaurs. What do you think?"

Hufflepuff tilted her head, staring at Hermione for a long moment before she answered. "Miss Granger, every creature in our world, no matter how powerful, or how small, has a soul and a place in society. Suffering a werewolf attack does not make one less important than those around them. Many people fear centaurs because they are unfamiliar, but it must not discredit their strength of character."

"What about house elves?" Hermione asked nervously. She had seen some of them around Hogwarts, even now.

"House elves love their work, Miss Granger," Hufflepuff said sharply, "and you will find that most of them do not like to be questioned in that regard. They see it as an honour to serve a household. However," she continued at Hermione's raised brows, "there are a good many families who could certainly stand to treat their elves with more respect."

"I understand," Hermione said quietly.

" _Most_ creatures," Hufflepuff went on, softer, "deserve more respect than they are given. It is up to you and I to fight for that respect on their behalf."

"I can appreciate that," Hermione responded, feeling a surge of emotion rise within her. She cleared her throat. "A worthwhile pursuit, don't you think?"

"Absolutely," Helga said with a tight smile. "It is always worthwhile, though we often fight hard for little progress."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said, feeling more connected to Hufflepuff than she ever had. Before this experience she had been somewhat dismissive of the students of Hufflepuff house – but having met the woman herself, Hermione felt humbled to have been so wrong. Unwavering acceptance, she decided, was an incredible strength.

"Be proud of the work you have done here, Miss Granger," Hufflepuff said, "we have all been honoured to have you as our student."

Hermione turned to the woman with a sharp glance. Something in her words seemed strange. Hufflepuff simply met her gaze, her lips twitching.

"Something tells me you will not be finishing the year here with us," the woman said, by way of explanation. "More specifically, Rowena let something slip about you returning home. Something, I can assure you, Rowena does infrequently. Whatever she has been working on has had her extremely focused – frazzled, even."

Hermione swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, unsure how much exactly Hufflepuff guessed at.

"I cannot explain it all," Hermione said quietly, "though perhaps Professor Ravenclaw will be able to tell you more… after."

"I understand," Helga said, that near-ubiquitous twinkle in her eyes. "Regardless, it has been lovely to know you. Your companion as well. His maturity in dealing with magical creatures says a great deal about his character."

Hermione's heart swelled, realizing how much he really had grown.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said again, feeling a faint prickling of tears at the corners of her eyes, "I really do appreciate everything."

"Of course," the woman said with a wink. With a wave of her wand, she handed Hermione a small sheet of parchment. A late slip for her next class. "Best carry on now."

* * *

Malfoy smiled when Hermione slipped into her seat beside him in Charms that afternoon. A heated, private smile he seemed to reserve for her.

"I met with Slytherin this morning," he said by way of greeting. "To discuss the potential of pursuing a Potions mastery." He raised a brow, scratching absently with his quil on a sheet of parchment. He so rarely fidgeted that Hermione turned to look more closely at him.

"How did that go?" she asked carefully.

"It went well," he replied quietly, not meeting her gaze. "I know he turns rubbish to the others and leaves Hogwarts eventually, but there's a part of me that would be tempted. To apprentice with Slytherin himself. It's almost enough to convince me to stay."

A forced smirk. Hermione saw right through it.

"There is no shame in that," she said softly. "You have admired the man your whole life. Regardless of how he turns out eventually, he was an incredibly accomplished wizard and potioneer. You  _would_  be learning from the best."

"Right," he said, taking a deep breath. He still drew patterns on the sheet of parchment. "I suppose this is all symptomatic. I'm tempted to stay, to learn with him, because I have no bloody idea what to expect when we return home. The glares, the scathing comments… is it terrible that I've grown used to being here, where no one knows what I've done? Who my family allied itself with?"

"That isn't terrible at all," Hermione breathed, and she had the feeling this had been weighing on him far longer than just the one day. "But try to remember, it is entirely within your power to  _change_  that perspective. I've seen it, Draco." His gaze lifted sharply from the sheet of parchment. "I see it every single day, how much you're trying, and I think it's brilliant."

Something flickered in his grey eyes, something soft and vulnerable and it made Hermione take his hand beneath the table.

"I suppose staying here, hiding from all that," he said quietly, "would just prove I haven't changed after all."

"We'll face it together," Hermione said, nearly a whisper as he turned to her, his brow furrowed and his expression heavy. She hoped she hadn't misjudged their relationship – that it was what he wanted, too. When he still didn't respond, Hermione carried on. "I spoke with Hufflepuff this morning, too. About magical creatures."

"Because you're going to become a Magizoologist," he said, a slight twinge of humour in his tone and Hermione relaxed a bit.

"It isn't a terrible thought," she said, turning to him. "But I would rather be a voice for those who are misjudged and mistreated for the circumstances of their birth – or circumstances beyond their control."

Hermione could have sworn he nearly flinched as he stiffened, his gaze flickering to the scar on her forearm that she typically kept covered or glamoured to avoid questions.

But he only said, quietly, "the wizarding world won't know what hit it."

And Hermione beamed at him as Ravenclaw breezed into the room with a significant glance to the two of them, and the room fell silent. As the lesson began, Hermione noted that Rowena did in fact look slightly more disheveled than usual, and did not seem particularly focused on the class.

In fact, by the end of the lesson, Ravenclaw was merely seated at her desk, writing frantically on a sheet of paper while her students practiced the wrist movements of a particularly tricky charm. She caught Hermione's eye with a jerk of her head as the class ended and the room emptied out.

Hermione nudged the blond, who had been her partner, and they approached Rowena's desk. Once the last students trailed out, she looked up, her gaze flickering between them.

"I've figured out the charm," the woman said, and up close she looked exhausted. Hermione suspected she hadn't been sleeping, even as a jolt of surprise raced through her. She hadn't expected Ravenclaw to work so fast, but supposed the woman wasn't considered a genius for nothing. "January fifteenth. Any earlier or later and the magic grows infinitely more complicated."

"Right," Hermione said, with a glance to Malfoy. "January fifteenth."

She hoped the woman hadn't noticed the momentary panic that had likely crossed her face.

"It will give you some time to set everything in order," Ravenclaw said, her tone a bit gentler.

Set everything in order. Say goodbye to Helena.  _Figure out_   _what happened_. Hermione forced a smile and a nod, Malfoy stoic beside her.

Three days. They had only  _three_   _days_.

"Thank you, Professor," Malfoy said quietly. He loosed a breath as they turned to leave the room and grimaced as his eyes met hers. His hand tightened on the strap of his bag in the corridor. "Three days."

Hermione could only breathe, "three days," in response.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hi friends. Here is chapter 16! Thank you all so much for the love on this story, I am so grateful for you all. I do hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

The following day, Malfoy collapsed inelegantly into a seat at the Ravenclaw house table. Hermione glanced up in surprise from the assignment she had been working on over a leisurely breakfast, given it was Saturday.

"Hi," he drawled, running a hand through his blond hair.

"Good morning," Hermione said with a smile as she set down her quill. "Are you lost?"

"I might be," he murmured. Hermione suddenly noticed the bags beneath his eyes and how exhausted he looked. His eyes darted along the table, ensuring no one was within hearing range. "I confronted Waldo."

Hermione's eyes widened. "And?"

"And I asked him what he really thought of her," Malfoy said, looking put out. "He said I know exactly what he thinks. He denied it."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Hermione admitted. "The more I consider it, the more I suspect we're going about this the wrong way. We can't  _really_  learn what happened because it obviously hasn't happened yet. So if things go poorly between them a year or two from now, hearing them admit anything now – or even talking about it – won't do anything, will it?"

"No, probably not," he said shortly. "But if there's a hint or something."

"I know," Hermione said softly. "What else did Waldo say?"

"Nothing," Malfoy said with a grimace. "He just left for Hogsmeade with the rest of his Slytherin gang."

" _You're_  a part of his Slytherin gang," Hermione said with a smile. "Helena went to Hogsmeade, too."

"Right, well, I opted to spend the day with you instead," he dropped a quick kiss to her cheek. Hermione's heart fluttered as she met his eyes.

"We could go to Hogsmeade, if you'd like," Hermione said, glancing down at her assignment. "I suppose it won't matter if we complete any more schoolwork at this point, given that we leave on Monday."

"You're right," he said, brows flickering. "I hadn't thought of that. How odd will it be to return to the classes we were taking before? I think I'll get the course material confused."

"Plus NEWTs are in less than five months," Hermione said with a groan. "And I've been studying  _Divination_ , of all things, which I don't even have an OWL in."

"Please," he breathed, "we both know you'll destroy your NEWTs. I probably won't even see you for the next five months due to studying."

Hermione glanced at him. Neither of them had particularly tried to broach the subject that things between them would likely change once they returned. They had different friends – who tended to hate each other – and the entirety of the wizarding world was still reeling from the war.

She knew how  _she_  felt. She knew that he had grown to be a huge part of her life and she wouldn't let the opinions of others affect how she felt. But she wasn't certain that they wouldn't face struggles all the same.

She suspected he was thinking along the same lines as he stared at her, deep in thought.

"You're right," he said, "we  _should_  go to Hogsmeade. And just enjoy ourselves. Whether we see Helena and Waldo or not – let's try to have faith that we can talk to their ghosts when we return."

Hermione nodded and packed her bag. "I'll drop this off and get my cloak," she murmured.

"I'll come," he said simply. He entwined their fingers as they walked, drawing her closer, but he still wore that same faraway look, as if he simply didn't know what to think.

But he grinned when Hermione emerged from Ravenclaw Tower in his Slytherin scarf.

Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were signing students out of the ledger when they arrived at the Entrance Hall.

"Going into the village?" Ravenclaw asked sharply as she looked between them.

"Yes," Malfoy replied with a shrug. "We thought we would go for a walk."

"Very well," Ravenclaw clipped though her tone softened. She gazed at Hermione for a long moment. "Then you may stop for a Butterbeer on my account."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said as Gryffindor wrote their names on his list. Ravenclaw simply nodded once more and the two carried on.

* * *

Nearly two hours later Hermione and Malfoy found themselves sipping hot Butterbeers, deep in contemplation. They had been hopeful when Baron wasn't with his Slytherin friends, but then when they found Helena at the Three Broomsticks she was surrounded by her usual group of friends.

Shortly after, the Slytherins had entered the pub and neither had so much as glanced at one another.

Malfoy grimaced and took another sip. "Presumably my asking Waldo about it has put them on their guard," he said softly. "I suppose this isn't something within our control, just as anything else from the future isn't. Realistically, even if we walked right up and told them, we can't affect change. So what sort of a mess would that lead to in their lives?"

"Right," Hermione said. "Here's what I think we should do." She set down her mug and took a deep breath. "We spend the next two days enjoying ourselves, saying goodbye to our new friends and professors in whatever way we can, and we attempt to accept this."

Malfoy glanced up, his grey eyes soft as they met hers.

"If we were meant to come back to fix this for them, somehow, then it will have to work out, won't it? Whatever we still need to learn, it must be from the outside, from our time," Hermione went on. "Perhaps we were sent here to learn that what we thought we knew, isn't the case at all. Maybe now, through this experience, we will know what to look for when we return."

"We can have faith," the blond replied, taking her hand across the table. "We  _have_  to have faith."

As Hermione gazed at him, her brow furrowed and she felt a deeper meaning behind his words that struck her like a blow.  _Have faith_. Maybe he was as invested in this relationship as she was.

"Faith," she repeated with a wry smile. She entwined their fingers. "Yes, we can do that."

* * *

Sunday afternoon found Hermione alone with Helena in their dorm. Helena was absently alphabetizing the study materials on the small shelf beside her bed, humming softly.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione steeled herself.

"Helena, I've got something for you," she said quietly. Helena turned with a smile.

"What is it?" she asked, eyes alight.

Hermione handed her the photo she had created from the charm she'd used at the Solstice Ball. It was a photograph of herself, Helena and Malfoy all smiling together.

Helena gasped, flipping the photograph over to look at the back side. "What is this? How have you done this?"

Hermione quickly explained the charm, chewing on her bottom lip as she conjured a small frame for the photograph to sit in. Helena carefully set the frame on her top shelf, gazing at it. When she looked back to Hermione, there were tears in her eyes.

"Are you leaving?" Helena breathed.

"Tomorrow," Hermione said with a shaky breath. "We are going back home."

Helena pressed her lips together. Hermione didn't know exactly how much the girl suspected, but she had been surprisingly astute in guessing that they might have been from a different time.

"You've been working on something with my mother, haven't you?" Helena asked quietly.

"Yes, she has been helping us," Hermione admitted. "We must leave tomorrow as it is the day from which we left. Before we arrived here."

"When?" The word was a whisper.

"A thousand years," Hermione said, equally quiet.

Helena merely gaped at her for a long moment, her eyes wide. "A thousand!" she finally exclaimed. "But… how? Why? Hermione, you must tell me all about it."

"We don't know why," Hermione shook her head. "Not yet. It is something we will have to discover in time, I suppose. I can tell you about it, but Helena, I need to ask something of you."

"Of course," Helena breathed, tears in her eyes again.

Hermione reached for Helena's hand, tentatively. The other girl grasped Hermione's with both of her own, gazing with rapt attention. Hermione stared at her new friend, feeling the harsh sting of tears in her own eyes as she chewed her lip.

"Helena, please just… be careful. Look after yourself," Hermione hesitated. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "be careful with Waldo."

She knew she couldn't change anything – knew there was no sense in saying anything. But she wouldn't forgive herself if she didn't at least know Helena was being cautious.

"It is okay, Hermione," Helena responded after a long moment. "Waldo will not hurt me."

Evidently they had both abandoned pretense. Hermione gave her friend a sad smile.

"You really care for him, don't you?" Hermione breathed.

Helena allowed a smile to come to her face. "I truly do."

Hermione took a deep, steadying breath, taking in the look of utter contentment on Helena's face. "Then I am so happy for you as well, Helena."

"So," Helena whispered, glancing around the room conspiratorially. "You and Draco really came here together from the future?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted, smiling, "but I swear, we never even remotely got along before this."

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon answering Helena's ravenous queries about the future – within reason – and tried her hardest to enjoy their last day together, keeping the tears at bay.

* * *

When Hermione collapsed into Draco's arms on the couch in front of the fire in the Room of Requirement that evening, she felt emotionally drained and weary.

"Can you believe this is our last night here?" he asked, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

"No," Hermione admitted, burying her face in his chest as he maneuvered them so they were both laying down. Hermione entangled their legs, drawing absently on his chest as she met his gaze. "Did you spend time with Waldo this afternoon?"

"Yes," he murmured, running a hand through her hair. "I didn't tell him we were leaving – he doesn't know anything about that, but… he's been a good friend while we've been here. I'm certain it will be strange to see him again, as a ghost."

"Incredibly strange," Hermione agreed. "We are to meet Rowena in the courtyard after dinner tomorrow. She said she will make sure students are repelled from the area."

"Okay," he murmured, his eyes slipping shut as he rest his head against hers. He let out a sigh. "It was sort of starting to feel like we would never leave here."

"I know," Hermione said, burrowing deeper into his arms. She jolted, reaching across him into her bag on the floor. "I forgot to give you these – after the Solstice Ball."

She handed him the two photographs; one identical to the one she had given to Helena of the three of them; the other of him and Waldo standing together and grinning, when they hadn't noticed her. Malfoy stared at them, flipping back and forth between the two.

"Thank you," he finally said, quietly. "These are a wonderful keepsake." Then he glanced down at her, a smirk curving his lips. "And our first photograph together."

He reached over his head to set them down on the end table. Then he stared at her for a long moment, his expression impossible to read.

"Whatever happens when we go back," he said, looking away, "and in the weeks and months to come… I want you to know that this experience, with you, has been one of the best things that's ever happened to me. And I wanted to thank you for giving me a chance, despite everything we've been through in the past."

Hermione swallowed heavily, feeling the emotions from earlier sweep back in, instantly blinking back tears.

"It has been one of the greatest experiences of my life as well," Hermione admitted, meeting his gaze. "It's been a chance to experience life in this world as a student, without war and prejudice, and getting to know you has been wonderful." His throat bobbed as he grasped her hand on his chest. "And Draco… being here with you has been an honour."

His brow was furrowed as he stared at her, his lips parted. Then he seized her face and kissed her, slowly and thoroughly, his lips pressing against hers softly at first, then with more insistence. Hermione entwined her fingers in his fine hair, drawing him closer still and with each stroke of his tongue on hers, she felt the sensations deep in her core.

His body, pressed so closely to hers, set her nerves alight and Hermione grasped him, kissing him with abandon, basking in the feeling. Malfoy shifted her as he moved to lay alongside her, and with a smirk, he nudged a leg between hers as he moved above her, never breaking the kiss.

Hermione let out a sharp breath as he dropped kisses along her jawline, her neck, her collarbone. Heart racing, she bit down on her lip, arching into him, exposing her neck even as his ministrations shot jolts of desire through her core.

He played absently with the hem of her shirt, and when his heated eyes met hers, questioning, Hermione bit down on a whimper and nodded.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled the shirt over her head, meeting her eyes once more as his next breath caught. He met her gaze again, even as she tugged at his shirt as well and he slipped it off with a smirk.

Hermione realized she was staring at his chest, the lean muscle tone running the length of his arms, his slim hips that led… her eyes flew back to his, a flush gracing her cheeks as he stared at her with a scintillating smile, his heavily-lidded eyes full of humour and lust.

She forgot to feel self-conscious, to feel nervous, lost in that gaze. He pressed a single kiss to her lips, drawing back with a breathed, "you're beautiful."

He gave her that smile again, sending fire shooting across her skin as he continued pressing kisses to the hollow of her throat, down to her chest where he traced the curve of her breasts with his tongue, his hot breath making her squirm while his hands ran along her sides. He hissed at the movement, the friction between them.

Hermione couldn't catch her breath. This was nothing like the rushed, awkward experience she had had with Viktor.

Then he was kissing her again, one hand deep in her hair while the other lingered at her thigh, her skirt having hitched up her leg. Hermione clung to him, growing bold as she ran her hands along the hard muscles of his stomach.

"Can I touch you?" he breathed against her mouth, drawing away with a bite to her lower lip, his hand still tracing patterns on her thigh.

"Yes please," she whispered, kissing him again and she felt his smirk as the hand on her leg ran upwards, teasing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She was lost in the feel of his bare skin on hers.

His hand reached her apex, and Hermione thought he might have purred against her mouth when he found her soaked and ready for him. But he didn't say anything, only dragged her knickers down part way, flicking a finger over the small bundle of nerves there.

Hermione broke the kiss with a whimper but he merely stared at her, as he slipped one finger inside of her, then two. Hermione bit her lip at the sensation, her eyes fluttering closed as he waited for her to adjust.

Then his hand began to move and Hermione, her breathing ragged, brow furrowed, watched him as the sensations had her core coiling and tensing. There was something like relief, like affection, in his eyes, beneath the heavy glaze of lust.

With each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his thumb on her clit, Hermione felt that tensing grow and build to some unfamiliar precipice, and he kissed her again, his lips lightly tracing hers, distractedly.

And when that wave crested and broke, unleashing itself upon Hermione's body, she cried out his name with a gasp. He kissed her again, his hand lingering inside her to extend the feel of it until she sunk back into the couch, her breathing unsteady and stared up at him, a smile playing at her lips.

Malfoy smirked at her as he removed his fingers from her passage and Hermione flushed as he licked her juices from each digit. He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, his face hovering alongside hers.

"Was that your first orgasm?" he asked softly, his breath tickling her ear.

"Yes," Hermione breathed, willing her heart to slow, "last time… I didn't –"

"It's common," he said easily, cutting her off. "With intercourse. Or so I hear." He drew back to look at her with a teasing grin, squeezing her hand with his. "At least I got that one of your firsts."

Hermione could feel the evidence of his arousal still pressed against her, and biting her lip nervously, she reached for the waist of his trousers. He caught her hand, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to her palm.

"But you haven't…" Hermione said, horrified to feel her cheeks flame.

"How about, if you still want to when we return home, we'll take it from there," he breathed, entwining his fingers with hers.

And Hermione knew why he hesitated, why he didn't want to take things any further tonight. It was the same reason she was hesitant to discuss their future. Because they both knew things would change when they returned home, and how much it would affect them was unforeseen.

He cast a  _scourgify_  on them both, flashing her a smile as Hermione fixed her knickers.

She could only whisper "okay" as he gathered her into his arms once more.

* * *

Monday flew past in a disjointed blur. Hermione felt a terrible sort of disconnect between wanting to say goodbye to her friends and professors, but being unable to tell them she was leaving.

So she sat through her classes beside either Helena or Malfoy, unable to convince herself to pay attention. The smile she tried to offer her Ravenclaw friends felt forced and a sort of numbness crept down her spine.

Malfoy nudged her shoulder a few times, trying to shake her from the melancholy mood that had taken her. But yet by the time her classes were done for the day, she felt decidedly ready to go home, for the wait to simply be over.

She brought only a few items with her beyond what she came with, packed into her satchel: the set of extendable ears, her own photos with Helena and Malfoy from the Solstice Ball, her copy of the runes they had worked so hard on attempting to translate, the Slytherin scarf. And the soft leather quill case Malfoy had given her for Christmas.

While she knew they had agreed to return the items prior to returning home, Hermione's couldn't leave it behind. Not when it had been in a pile of assorted junk items that would become the foundation of mountains of lost and unwanted items.

Not when it had been so thoughtfully selected as a gift for her.

She also packed her Hogwarts uniform and Gryffindor tie, which had been tucked away since they had arrived. Then taking a deep breath, Hermione left Ravenclaw Tower for the last time.

* * *

Hermione silently grasped Helena's hand as she stood from dinner, knowing if she looked at her new friend she would likely become emotional. They had said their goodbyes the day before. Helena merely squeezed her hand back but then gave Hermione a quick hug, a whispered "I'll miss you."

Hermione nodded, chancing a look at Helena, and forcing a quick, watery smile.

She walked to the Slytherin table where Malfoy was still in discussion with Waldo. Upon noticing her, the blond merely clapped his friend on the shoulder and with a smirk, he stood to walk with her from the Great Hall.

Hermione glanced to the founders' table, hoping to catch the eye of Hufflepuff or maybe Gryffindor, but the founders were all absent. Swallowing her disappointment, Hermione made her way to the courtyard alongside Malfoy, both of them rather subdued.

He appeared to be fidgeting with something in his pocket and when he noticed Hermione looking, he pulled out the small carved figure she had given him as his Christmas gift. He gave her a half-smile.

"I'm not returning this," he said unapologetically.

"I kept your gift as well," Hermione admitted with a glance at her satchel. They both smiled.

"Look," he said, slipping the figure back into his pocket and taking her hand. "We've been in this mess together, and at least we still have that, right?"

"Right," Hermione affirmed.

"Then as long as the portal doesn't drop us off in the wrong year, we should be fine," he went on conversationally.

Hermione simply stared at him, her eyes narrowed slightly. He grinned, bumping into her with his shoulder.

"Relax," he murmured, as they arrived at the courtyard. "It's all going to be okay."

Hermione continued to stare at him, even as the tension settled from her stance. She nodded, trailing her fingers over the back of his hand nearest her.

Hermione jumped with surprise to notice not only Ravenclaw, but the three other founders as well all waiting in the courtyard. And while Rowena looked unimpressed, the others looked distinctly pleased with themselves.

"It seems  _certain_ founders have been discussing their theories and pooling their knowledge," Ravenclaw said, tossing a mockingly disgruntled look to her colleagues. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Slytherin simply stared back in solidarity. "And have come to see the two of you off."

Hermione smiled as she met the eyes of the three other founders, relieved that she would at least get to say her goodbyes. Malfoy grinned, walking over to where Slytherin stood, looking rather smug.

"I knew there was something strange happening," Helga said with a dismissive wave as she and Godric walked over to Hermione. She hugged Hermione in a quick embrace, drawing back to meet her eyes. "It has been an honour to know and teach you. I am positive you will make a great impact on our world."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said, looking between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, her brow furrowed. "I can't even say what an honour it has been to learn from you both. We have learned of you and your accomplishments in our history books for many years."

"Wonderful!" Gryffindor exclaimed with a wide grin. "Rowena tells me you are sorted into my house, in your own time. I am very pleased to hear that; I confess I did not see it at first, but I see in you a noble and selfless spirit."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione repeated, feeling overwhelmed. She glanced up to see Malfoy and Slytherin walking over and Hermione turned to Slytherin as Hufflepuff and Gryffindor started a conversation with the blond.

"I knew there was something odd about you," the man merely said, still looking incredibly pleased with himself, a self-satisfied smile upon his lips. It seemed, for all his questions and lurking about, the man was simply trying to learn the truth about them.

"You've discovered it," Hermione said with a smile. "It has been wonderful learning from you, Professor Slytherin."

"And you were an excellent student," Slytherin said with an incline of the head. "Both you and Mr Malfoy. Do look after him, won't you?"

"Of course," Hermione replied obligingly. The man nodded and joined the rest where they now stood near a familiar passageway cutting through a stone wall.

Swallowing her nerves, Hermione walked over to where Ravenclaw stood with Malfoy.

"This is it, I suppose," Hermione said, glancing between them.

"When you enter the door down the passage, the magical event will commence and return you to this exact time and date in the year 1999. But the portal can only be controlled from here; you will not be able to simply return."

"Right," Malfoy said, meeting Hermione's eyes. His hand found hers.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said, chewing her lip, the nerves returning full-force. "It has been an honour to know you, and to spend these months as an eagle."

"The honour has been mine, truly," Ravenclaw said, clasping each of their shoulders with a hand. "I still cannot say what drove me to bring you here in the first place and I can only hope that you one day learn as I presumably will. You are two of the most gifted students I have met. And I know Helena will miss you both."

"Thank you," Malfoy said quietly, swallowing. "And thank you for your assistance in our return home."

"Thank you for sharing your information of the future," Rowena said with an indulgent smile. "This has been an extraordinary experience."

"It certainly has," Hermione breathed, with a glance at the blond beside her.

"I bid you both farewell," Ravenclaw said with a tilt of the head. The woman stepped back to stand alongside the other founders. When Hermione turned to look at them, they all waved once more. She and Malfoy waved, stepping into the passage.

The walk felt shorter than she remembered, and once they came across the door, Malfoy turned to her. He pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, his grey eyes sparkling when he pulled back.

"Ready to go home?" he murmured, a smirk drifting to his lips.

"Yes," Hermione breathed, and meant it.

He entwined their fingers once more, and opened the door.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks as always for the support on this fic everyone! I intended to post this a couple days sooner, especially after that cliff hanger (sorry!), but life. Next chapter we really dig back into the plot. And for those who have been wondering, there are still quite a few chapters to go here and lots to unravel.
> 
> Also - friends! I have an exciting announcement! I am honoured, thrilled and a little baffled that the lovely admins over at the Granger Enchanted Survivors FB group are hosting an In Dreams 'Meet the Penname' day this coming Friday, February 23rd! So stop by and read some weird things about me, ask some questions or just say hi! I love interacting with other readers and writers and I'm really looking forward to it :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

"Malfoy?" Hermione whispered once the earth had settled beneath her feet, the onslaught of sound had faded, and the glaring white light had dropped, leaving her half-blinded and squinting into the darkness.

She clutched at her satchel, fumbling for her wand where she had tucked it away. She cast a  _lumos_  and by the faint light she could see the portal; a rather nondescript altar in the centre of an otherwise empty, small room.

It certainly wasn't anything fantastic but it was the magic with which it was imbued, Hermione supposed, that made it extraordinary.

"Draco?" she hissed, louder, as she scanned the small room. She tried to calm the frantic pounding in her heart.

She crept to the door, pushing it open. With the overgrowth in the corridor she couldn't tell whether it was day or night. She wasn't certain of what, exactly, made her keep her words and actions quiet.

"She definitely refines her technique in transporting people through time when she decides to haul us back, doesn't she?"

Hermione spun, eyes wide, to see Malfoy behind her, rubbing his head.

"Are you alright?" she whispered, eyes flying to where he gingerly pressed into his pale hair.

"Fine," he said dismissively, "must have hit my head."

"Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked, reaching to press on the spot and he winced. He pressed his lips together and gave her a stern look.

"No," he said shortly. "And that's even if we've arrived back in 1999."

"One way to find out," Hermione said tightly, attempting to force a smile. His hand hung loosely in hers when she tried to hold it and he still looked rather dazed as she led him from the room and down the passage.

Hermione noticed his other hand fidgeting in his pocket, where he kept the small wooden carving she had given him. A smile crossed her features at the thought.

"Hey," he said suddenly, turning to her at the end of the corridor. He lifted his hand to trace along her cheek. Then he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. Catching her lower lip between his teeth when he pulled back, he allowed a smirk.

But there was a sadness in his eyes that Hermione couldn't quite place and didn't know that she was ready to unpack just yet.

He simply tugged her forward into the courtyard. Hermione blinked at the night sky, relieved something had gone right.

"What time do you suppose it is?" she whispered.

"Hard to say," he returned with equal quiet. "We left around eight o'clock, but we won't be around for patrols until after ten. I suspect we ought to lay low until then."

"Definitely," Hermione agreed. "If we noticed ourselves, don't you think we would have been distracted and perhaps not found the portal?"

"Yes," he said shortly, his gaze flickering down to their clasped hands. "Though if we're careful we can still try to confirm we've arrived back in the correct year."

Hermione nodded and they slowly left the courtyard, making themselves scarce every time they heard noise from students or professors. It was clearly well before curfew, then.

Malfoy sighed, drawing her into an empty classroom and locking the door. He cast a  _tempus_ , the hovering number showing it was shortly past eight. He gave her a wry, self-deprecating smile, shaking his head. "We aren't even using our brains. Why don't we just wait here until the time when we would be on patrols? If we see ourselves, we'll know. If we tried to access our common rooms or the library or something, it would raise questions."

"Most certainly," Hermione said, lips tweaked into a smile. "Especially since I recall being in the library right now."

He glanced to her, the set of his jaw making her nervous. "Do you remember exactly where? Who you were with?"

"Of course," she said dismissively. "I was at my usual table and I was alone. I went back to Gryffindor Tower shortly before I was due to meet you. I was a few minutes late; you gave me a hard time, remember?"

"I suppose I did," he said with a small smile. "Merlin, this is weird. We can wait here until past ten  _or_  we can keep a safe distance and see if you're in the library."

"We have to stay hidden until we go through the portal regardless," Hermione explained, chewing her lip thoughtfully. She felt oddly indecisive. "It doesn't matter to me. You choose."

"If we just wait here, what would we do in the meantime?" he asked, his tone lacking the heat and innuendo she had come to expect from him. Hermione wondered exactly how much he was overthinking the situation.

Maybe it was why she felt uncertain with him, as well. Spending time with Draco Malfoy in 1999 carried a far heavier weight than it had in the past. It felt  _different_ , even now. Steeling herself, Hermione met his gaze.

"We will simply spend the time together, as we did back then," she said quietly, but firmly.

Hermione arranged for an alarm on her wand for a quarter past ten and with a wave of it, transfigured a nearby workbench into a couch. With a glance to him, she took a seat. She thought she saw a flicker of relief pass through his gaze as he joined her.

She made a point of burrowing into his chest when he dropped an arm around her shoulders.

"I know everything is going to feel different," Hermione whispered. She wasn't certain he was breathing. "But I don't want this to."

"I didn't know whether you'd want anything to do with me once we'd returned," he admitted with a heavy exhale of breath. Hermione glanced at him thoughtfully.

"I wondered the same about you," she responded softly, "but even  _if_  that were the case, which it clearly  _isn't_ , we're both so deep into this there would be no walking away even if we wanted to. At least not until this is all sorted."

"You're right," he murmured. His arm tightened around her. "I just can't see how it's going to work. Once you realize –" He made a face. "Most of the wizarding world really does hate me and my family."

Hermione offered him a tight smile. "I don't."

He stared at her for a long moment, his brow furrowing. "Maybe I don't deserve you."

"Draco," Hermione said firmly, rolling her eyes. She swung one leg around him, easing herself cautiously onto his lap and meeting his eyes. She lifted a hand, tracing the panes of his face. His eyes fluttered as she drove the hand into his hair.

"I liked that you were able to move past so much of what you've been through," Hermione admitted, holding his stare. "What you don't deserve is to be treated poorly for your upbringing. You  _don't deserve_  to have to question everything." She glanced away, even as she continued playing with his hair. "I have come to care for you, despite your past, because of who you are becoming. Because of who I have had the privilege of getting to know."

He simply stared at her, as if not trusting himself to speak. Taking a deep breath, Hermione went on.

"And you're right, this isn't going to be easy. But please understand," she pressed a kiss to his lips, "you and I cannot make it harder by questioning  _us_ , when everyone else is going to do enough of that. We have to have faith, remember? I have faith in you, and in this, Draco." She swallowed hard. "I don't want to lose you."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. "You won't. I  _can't_  lose you." Then he breathed, "faith." His eyes met hers again, his grey eyes more vulnerable than she thought she had ever seen. His hands trailed up her back, pulling her closer to him.

He nuzzled her neck, his hot breath stirring Hermione's blood, and dropped a kiss on her skin. Then another, just below the curve of her jaw and another – Hermione tipped her head back to provide him better access, her mind instantly flashing back to the way he had made her feel just the night before.

Then his lips met hers and Hermione sunk into him, her hands in his hair as she kissed him back.

* * *

They broke from a languid kiss as the alarm on Hermione's wand sounded, his hand idly playing with the waist of her skirt. Flushing, Hermione collected her shirt from the floor and carried it to where she had left her satchel.

"I suppose we should put our usual uniforms on, in case we come across anyone," she murmured, drawing her standard Hogwarts Oxford, skirt and Gryffindor tie from the bag.

With a nod and a smirk, Malfoy politely turned away while he too changed. Hermione forced herself to keep her gaze averted.

Then he walked over, eyes narrowed slightly as he wrapped her Gryffindor tie around his hand, drawing her closer.

"This looks strange now," he breathed, planting one last kiss on her mouth. "I suppose I'll have to steal your Gryffindor scarf now."

"Good luck," Hermione muttered under her breath but he laughed. She slung the satchel over her shoulder. "Come on, let's go see if we can find ourselves."

Malfoy snorted and followed her from the room.

A very terse ten minutes later, there was still no sign of them approaching the courtyard. Hermione was playing with her hair so aggressively that Malfoy finally reached out and stilled her wrist. His grey eyes flashed when she looked at him, full of tension and nerves.

"Perhaps," he said, no louder than a breath, "we should have had Ravenclaw show us what she did."

Hermione's eyes widened as her heart began to race. She would have expected they'd have been here by now, and obviously so did he. Maybe the spell had gone awry after all? She folded her arms across her chest to keep her hands trapped, the worry mounting with each passing minute.

Finally there was a sharp intake of breath from Malfoy beside her and she heard the sound of distant steps.

Then – bickering. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut on a sigh of relief as she heard her own voice declare a strange sound. She watched, stiffly, knowing that what was about to happen needed to happen. Malfoy merely stared at her, as if understanding the same.

A faint flash of light reached even to their vantage point as the portal activated. Then he gave her a wry smile.

"It seems it is once again the fifteenth of January, 1999. No one has missed us, nothing has changed." He paused a moment. "Nothing, or everything."

"Everything," Hermione agreed, slipping her hand into his.

* * *

But when Hermione awoke the next morning, beneath her scarlet comforter in Gryffindor Tower, she couldn't tell if nothing or everything had changed, or somewhere in between.

As the only Gryffindor girl in her year who had returned, Hermione found herself once again the sole occupant of her dorm – though she missed sharing a dorm with Helena and the other seventh year Ravenclaw girls.

Hermione browsed her timetable, tucked away since September, in order to re-familiarize herself with her schedule. Then she made her way to breakfast, stumbling over her own feet as she corrected her trajectory from the Ravenclaw table to that of Gryffindor.

She blinked as she beheld Ginny and Neville eating together, friends she hadn't seen in months, but they went on as if they had seen her just the day before. Which they had.

Buttering a slice of toast, Hermione couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was an outside observer to this world, of which she had been a part for so many years. Her eyes rose to the Slytherin table, where she saw Malfoy –  _Draco_ , she supposed she ought to call him, if they were going to make this work here – picking at a slice of toast, seated between Nott and Zabini.

It felt odd, as well, not to see Baron grinning at his side.

Hermione had already decided she would venture to Ravenclaw Tower after her classes were over, summoning every last ounce of bravery that it would require in order for her to face Helena as a ghost. And she would simply  _ask_.

Perhaps Helena would remember her. She had never found the nerve to ask Rowena how the portal would work with regards to ghosts. Certainly, the Grey Lady had never shown any indication that she knew Hermione from when she had been at Hogwarts, so maybe that was an effect of the portal's magic, too.

She hoped Draco would go with her.

Only just realizing she was still staring at the Slytherin table, Hermione shook off the thoughts to see Draco returning her stare, his brow furrowed as he sipped from his glass of juice.

Hermione forced a smile that she knew he would see through. He flashed his teeth in a mockingly fake smile and Hermione glanced away as a true smile threatened. He would be the only constant through the transition back, it would seem. The thought made her feel oddly warm.

"Alright, Hermione?" Neville asked, startling Hermione from her thoughts. "You seem distracted."

"I'm fine," Hermione clipped, turning to her housemate.

"Probably just thinking about NEWTs," Ginny teased but there was something dismissive in her tone that set Hermione on edge.

"I wasn't, actually," she said shortly, unable to force a smile. She missed Helena something terrible, who had worked with her to prepare for NEWTs rather than mocking her dedication. She hadn't even thought about her year-end exams once since returning.

Perhaps Draco would work on NEWT preparation with her. But where would they study? The Room of Requirement had been destroyed by the Fiendfyre that had ravaged through it the year before during the Battle of Hogwarts.

The library, then. And anyone who disagreed with their relationship wouldn't matter. Hermione set her jaw at the thought.

"Are you sure you're okay, Hermione?" Neville asked, interrupting her thoughts once more.

"Maybe not," she said with a grimace. She needed some space to think. "Perhaps I'll stop by the hospital wing before class. Later Neville, Ginny."

Gathering her bag and robes, Hermione stood from her seat and left the Great Hall, feeling entirely out of sorts. She paused a short way down the corridor leading away from the hall, sitting on a bench tucked into an alcove. She shut her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples as she forced herself to breathe.

She tensed upon feeling the presence of another and opened her eyes to see Draco seated beside her, absently inspecting his fingernails. The hallway was mercifully empty, the majority of students still at breakfast.

"A lot to take in, isn't it?" he murmured quietly without looking at her.

Hermione drew her knees up to her chest on the bench, wrapping her arms around them. She flushed at having been found in such a state. But there was no judgement in his words.

"Yes," she admitted. "It's as if we never left, but – I miss it. I miss them. Being there was such a  _relief_  from everything. Being here feels like… chaos."

"I do too," he said easily, glancing over at her. "And it will take some time to readjust. Knowing we'll never see Helena and Waldo and the founders again. Not living, anyway."

"I'm going to go see her tonight, after classes," Hermione confessed into her knees. "Or maybe after dinner."

"I figured as much," he replied. "I'll come, if you want me to. If you'd rather see her alone, I'll understand."

"I'd like you to come," Hermione said instantly. "I just – I want her to realize she isn't alone. That I remember her. And I want to see whether they remember us."

"I've been thinking about that," Draco said vaguely, "and I imagine now that we've returned from their time, and our experiences there have existed, they might remember having met us. But maybe before we went through the portal, they wouldn't have known of us? I'm not sure whether Rowena would have considered the immortality of ghosts in preventing changes to the future."

"That's sort of what I was thinking, too," Hermione said thoughtfully. "That the magic of the portal merely adapted to their knowledge of us. I certainly hope she remembers us. It will make attempting to figure out what happened much easier."

"Tonight, then," he murmured, meeting her gaze. Hermione nodded, relieved to find she felt much better, just being in the easy stability of his presence.

He glanced up at the sound of distant voices and they both rose to their feet.

"It's up to you," he began, with a glance down the hall, "but I thought perhaps we might ease into it. We could give the whole school a nervous breakdown if we were just suddenly together."

"That's okay by me," Hermione said with a smile. "When it makes sense." She brushed her fingertips against his. "See you in class, then?"

"Later," he murmured, giving her an affectionate sort of smirk as he turned to walk down the corridor, just as a crowd of students turned into the hallway.

* * *

Hermione struggled with her focus for the rest of the day. She found it odd because she hadn't had such difficulties integrating into life in the past, but she supposed it was a testament to how profound her experiences there had been.

Sitting in charms that day beside Neville – eighth years typically sat classes alone – was jarring. And although Flitwick had been her Charms professor her entire time at Hogwarts, it felt bizarre that it wasn't Rowena Ravenclaw teaching the class.

Her gaze landed on Draco a handful of times, seated the next row over and one table ahead with Nott and Zabini.

He wore an expression of indifference and a slight air of boredom as Flitwick explained the lesson, his quill poised studiously over his parchment. It was a look she had grown accustomed to seeing on him through six years of school.

But she could see deeper now. The slight tension in his shoulders and the almost unnoticeable bounce to his knee – the way his eyes jumped around the room. But he didn't look her way, true to his word. Though Hermione now found herself wishing they hadn't made such an agreement. The judgement of other students couldn't possibly be any worse than they had faced during the war.

Hermione felt heat creep to her face along with the feeling of someone watching her.

Startled, she realized she had been staring at Draco, and as she averted her gaze, she met the cold, dark eyes of Blaise Zabini. The boy's stare flickered across her face and he sneered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the front.

Forcing herself to keep her head high, Hermione released a nearly inaudible sigh.

This wouldn't be forever, she tried to remind herself. Maybe they would be seen together a handful of times, allow the rapid Hogwarts gossip train to do the work for them. Then Zabini might take back his cold and callous attitude. Maybe. And if Draco's friends refused to accept her...

Draco was going to go see Helena with her later. He cared about her. They were still a team. Even despite the fact that everything was different, nothing had to change between the two of them.

Her gaze drifted to him again. This time his eyes met hers, just for a moment, accompanied by a lazy smirk.

No, nothing had to change.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The support for this story continues to humble, honour and thrill me. As thanks, I'm posting this chapter early! Yay! We are digging into some content that has been pre-written for months, and was in fact a large part of the inspiration of this fic as a whole. I'm excited - and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains non-explicit character death and tragic events. Please proceed with caution if this is something that might be a trigger for you. It is not very descriptive, but feel free to PM me for a quick summary of the events if you need.
> 
> Also just a reminder that my Meet the Penname event is being hosted on the Granger Enchanted Survivors FB group this Friday, February 23rd. I hope to see some of you there! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

"How was your day?" Hermione asked amenably when she met up with Draco after dinner that evening outside the Great Hall.

"Strange but uneventful," he murmured. "I accidentally went to Potions instead of Herbology this morning." Hermione's lips twitched.

"I made it halfway up the staircase of Ravenclaw Tower before realizing I was going to the wrong house after class," Hermione said, feeling the stress of the day fall off her shoulders in his comforting presence. She nearly laughed aloud at the thought.

He shot her a grin, moving to reach his hand to take hers but dropped it instead. The grin softened as he stared at her for a moment more before glancing down the corridor.

"We need to find Helena – the Grey Lady – and see if we can learn anything more about what really happened," Draco stated and Hermione nodded.

The two paced rapidly through the corridors, attempting to ignore the stunned looks as they went, but the students of this time were all too familiar with the animosity between them.

Hermione slowed as they reached the landing beneath Ravenclaw Tower, wondering where they might find the ghost, when Draco nudged her shoulder. He gestured towards an open passage, through which the pale translucence of the Grey Lady could just be made out, gazing mournfully through a window.

With a squeeze of his hand, Hermione stepped forward silently.

"Excuse me," Hermione began, hesitantly. "Er… Helena Ravenclaw?"

The ghost rotated on the spot, her shrewd eyes narrowing in response to the long unused moniker. She gazed at Hermione a long moment and then between the two students. Finally her mouth fell open in a gasp, her brow furrowing as her eyes widened in recognition.

"I don't believe it," the ghost whispered, a pale hand covering her mouth. "My old friend, Hermione – and Draco. How have I never known it to be true before this?"

"We've only just come back from your time," Draco said, stepping forward. "We suspect you had never actually known us before, if that makes sense."

"Yes," the ghost nodded. "I am glad to see you both have made it home."

"Helena," Hermione began, hesitantly. She steeled herself; though she had attempted to prepare herself for this moment, seeing Helena as a ghost was still shocking. "Will you share with us the truth of what really happened all those years ago? When Harry Potter asked you about your mother's diadem last year, you told him Waldo Baron was your murderer. But that wasn't true, was it?"

The Grey Lady gazed out the window, deep in thought before she finally turned back to the pair.

"Waldo did not kill me," she confessed softly. "Waldo was the love of my life. But other circumstances drove us apart, and ultimately to our deaths."

"What happened?" Draco asked regretfully. The ghost grew emotionally overwrought, sobbing softly into her hands. Hermione's heart ached at the sight.

"Things which are so painful to dwell on, I have locked them away," the Grey Lady admitted finally, "but I may show you, if you like. I will not even ask why you need to know – but I have no wand. You will have to extract them yourselves."

Instantly understanding, Hermione lifted her wand to Helena's temple, curious whether ghosts could produce memories. But a silver wisp, the same shade as Helena herself, came away, tethered to the wand. Draco quickly conjured a vial.

"I hope you do not judge me too harshly upon learning the truth," the ghost said, staring once more out the window, silver tears streaming down her cheeks. "I wished to tell you of Waldo and I, at the time, much earlier, but I did not know whether I could trust to share the truth with you until it was too late. Perhaps if I had, things might have gone differently."

"Thank you, Helena," Hermione said, staring sadly at her ghostly friend. "We truly appreciate it."

She lifted a hand to reach out but then hesitated and dropped the hand loosely to her side. Helena gave the pair of them a sad smile and then drifted away through the wall.

"That's all well and good," Draco began as they walked away from Ravenclaw Tower, "but where are we going to find a Pensieve?"

"The headmistress's office," Hermione responded as she walked off in the appropriate direction, Draco keeping pace.

"Of course," he murmured, gazing at her with a beguiling tilt to his lips. "What would I do without you?"

"I've absolutely no clue," she quipped, smiling absently.

He smirked and briefly took hold of her hand as they arrived at the gargoyle statues which led to the headmistress's office and pressed his lips to her palm. After a second he let her hand drop. Hermione stared at him for a moment, trying and failing to repress a smile.

She turned to knock the elaborate brass griffin door knocker, the sound echoing dully off the stone walls. Moments later the door opened and they walked up nervously.

"Hello, Professor," Hermione began hesitantly as Professor McGonagall glanced up and did a double-take upon seeing the two students together. "We were wondering whether we might borrow your Pensieve?"

McGonagall gaped, staring over her glasses between the two of them, then pursed her lips once more.

"It's important," Draco commented.

"It must be," McGonagall agreed. "Very well then."

"Thank you," Hermione said, fidgeting with the vial as McGonagall waved at the Pensieve, tucked into an alcove of the office. She glanced at Draco and poured the memory into the basin, then dove in before she could have second thoughts.

He arrived almost instantly after her, slipping his hand through hers and entwining their fingers. The memories began.

" _Come in," came the disembodied brogue of Rowena Ravenclaw. Helena stood nervously at the threshold before pushing open the door of Ravenclaw's office. Ravenclaw glanced up from a letter she had been writing. "What do you need?"_

" _I need to talk to you about something," Helena said softly._

_Ravenclaw set down her quill, giving her daughter her full attention. "What is it?"_

_Helena simply stared, fear and shame etched on her face. Finally she looked away, a whispered, "I'm pregnant."_

" _Pregnant," Ravenclaw repeated, staring at her daughter in disbelief. "_ You  _are pregnant? By_ whom _?"_

" _Waldo Baron," Helena whispered, tears spiking at the corners of her eyes. "I know it is not ideal –"_

" _Not ideal!" Ravenclaw exclaimed with derision, rising from her seat and walking over to Helena. "You foolish girl! How could you possibly think Waldo Baron could ever belong to you? He is betrothed to another!"_

" _He means to defy his father; we are to leave together once school is finished in the coming fortnight," Helena breathed, tears coursing down her cheeks._

" _You do not know Alfred Baron!" Ravenclaw said, though her tone was gentler. "He will_ not  _allow such a betrayal from his son. He will kill you if he finds out!"_

" _We will travel far away; he will never learn of the child," Helena pleaded, imploring her mother to understand. Yet Ravenclaw stared at her daughter as if she had already been lost, despair written on her features._

" _I fear there is nowhere you could go that Alfred Baron would not find you," she said, taking Helena's face in her hands. "You foolish, foolish girl."_

As the scene dissolved, Hermione clutched Draco's hand, her brow furrowed as she glanced to him. He grimaced in return.

"I can't believe Waldo's father would go so far as to murder Helena for becoming pregnant," Hermione whispered quickly.

"I can," Draco returned, "many pureblood extremists would have, especially back then. Even now, some families still feel that way."

" _Your_  father?" she asked, eyes wide.

"I would hope not. But his father, Abraxas Malfoy, almost certainly," he murmured, as the scene re-formed into a new memory, one between Helena and Waldo.

" _We must keep moving," Waldo was saying, packing a number of items into a trunk. "Even now, my father may be on our trail. We have not gone far enough."_

" _How will we ever fully escape him?" Helena despaired. She was now significantly pregnant, the swell of her belly evident. She was clutching Rowena's diadem, handing it to Waldo who carefully tucked it into the case between some clothing._

" _I_ will  _do everything I can to protect you and our child," Waldo hissed fiercely. Helena simply nodded, tears threatening at her eyes. "And that means that for now, we need to keep moving, laying false trails. Now that we've arrived on the continent, we have so much further we can go."_

" _Where will we go next?" Helena asked, gazing at Waldo._

" _We will travel further southeast through France," Waldo said. "The more we travel by Muggle means, the less of a magical trace we leave. As well, my father won't expect it. I suspect he will be tracking our travels by Floo or Apparition. We will continue to travel further east."_

_They finished packing in a heavy, tense silence. Waldo glanced over to Helena._

" _Helena… do you trust me?" he asked, hesitation on his features._

" _With my life," she responded instantly, a hand absently falling to her stomach. "And her life."_

" _You do not know whether it is a girl," Waldo said, after a pause. He turned to Helena, resting his hands on her stomach as well. "Perhaps it is a boy."_

" _I believe in my heart it is a girl," Helena whispered, a soft smile slipping to her features._

" _Then I shall protect her life with my own, should cause for it ever come to pass," he murmured in return._

The scene shifted again; Hermione glanced nervously at Draco, feeling as if she didn't want to keep watching. She knew, at some point, theirs would not be a happy ending.

Sensing her reservations, Draco drew her closer, planting a soft kiss to her temple.

" _Waldo," Helena cried, desperation tinging her tone, "we must stop. I believe the baby is coming."_

" _We haven't a safe place to stop!" Waldo exclaimed, "it was only yesterday my father nearly found us! He is here in this same region and we haven't a place to hide."_

_They were deep in a secluded wood; trees as far as could be seen on all sides. Yet Waldo glanced around in a panic, as if expecting his father to bear down on them at any moment._

" _This blasted crown," Helena snapped, throwing the diadem from its resting place atop her head into the hollow of a tree where it clattered out of sight. "It hasn't given us any wisdom at all! My mother gave it to us hoping it would help, but your father has outsmarted us at every turn." The anger in her voice had quickly given way to hopelessness._

" _If the baby is here, we can only hope she arrives swiftly, before my father can locate us. We will stay in this forest; it is our best chance," Waldo assured her._

The memory jumped ahead. Hermione could tell by the nervous look on Draco's face he was grateful. Hermione suspected Helena had left  _that_  particular piece of the memory out for their benefit.

_Helena cradled the newborn babe to her chest, resting on a makeshift bed on the forest floor; the baby had already been cleaned and wrapped tightly in a blanket._

" _She's perfect," Waldo whispered, eyes wide, enraptured at the sight of his daughter._

" _Her name will be Audrey Leana Baron," Helena whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. "She is so beautiful."_

" _Not Baron," Waldo said, shaking his head. "My father can never know who she is. He will find her if she shares my surname. Burke, my mother's house, has many branches. She will be able to blend in more easily."_

" _Audrey Leana Burke, then," Helena agreed with a peaceful sigh. She removed the necklace she wore around her throat and fastened it around Audrey's. It easily shrunk to fit, evidently magical. She drew Waldo to herself and the child, basking in a brief moment together._

" _Are you well?" Waldo asked as he stepped away, glancing once more around the forest. "We must be ready to travel soon."_

" _I confess I am very fatigued," Helena admitted and she looked it. She was pale, perspiration shining on her forehead; her limbs were weak as she cradled the newborn._

" _I must Apparate us all, then," Waldo said. "We will lay a false trail where we arrive, in an attempt to throw my father off."_

" _You will do no such thing," a new, cold voice said from the edge of a clearing. A tall, haughty man stood, his face a mask of disgust. He held a wand in one hand, a glistening dagger in the other._

_Instinctively, Waldo took the baby, holding her protectively to his chest as both he and Helena drew their wands. They shared a grim look._

_Without a sign of warning, curses were suddenly flying through the air. Helena and Waldo were firing clearly to defend themselves and their newborn child, while Alfred Baron was aiming to hurt whomever he could._

_Helena threw a non-verbal stunning spell, exhaustion plain on her features as the extensive use of magic took a toll on her already worn body. Helena ran, throwing curses behind her as she went, but Alfred Baron was on her tail. Through the trees they went, Helena dodging the flashes of lights flying at her._

_Waldo did his best to fight his father off for the two of them, but the baby Audrey was proving to be a hindrance. Alfred Baron easily blocked Waldo's curses as he chased Helena._

_Taking advantage of Waldo's distraction, and with a wicked sneer, Alfred let loose his dagger, tossing it with skill._

_Waldo's eyes widened in terror as he followed the trajectory of the blade; as if in slow motion, it buried in Helena's stomach. She froze, her face a visage of pain and fear as blood immediately blossomed on her dress, her hands clutching the wound, wand falling limply from her grasp._

" _No!" Waldo exclaimed, diving towards Helena; with one last well-aimed curse he hit his father with a stunning spell, grasped Helena's hand and Apparated the three of them from the forest._

_They arrived at the outskirts of a settlement, Waldo clearly not daring to Apparate her any further. The blood had drained from her face as her eyes fluttered weakly. Waldo grasped her hand, the baby firmly in his other arm, as tears streamed down his face._

" _My love," he murmured, gazing at her. He glanced at the wound, swallowing heavily. "I will heal you."_

_He waved his wand, performing some rudimentary healing spells but it wasn't enough. She had lost so much blood already; she needed a true healer if there was to be any hope._

" _Protect her," Helena murmured, her voice soft and weak. "Promise me, you will look after her."_

" _I promise," Waldo choked, "I will take her somewhere safe, I promise. Do not leave me."_

_But within moments Helena's head was rolling to the side. Her breathing shallowed and her hands fell from the wound to hang loosely by her sides._

" _No!" Waldo cried again, taken by despair and anger. He roared in bitter agony. "I will avenge you, my love…"_

The memory faded as the last of Helena's life force left her.

Hermione choked on a sob, tears flowing freely down her face as she clutched Draco's arm. He wrapped his other arm around her in an embrace, holding her tightly as he too fought the emotion of the memory they had experienced.

A cleared throat drew them back to the present. McGonagall was staring at the pair in her office, looking as uncomfortable and confused as Hermione had ever seen her.

"Er, right…" Hermione said, hastily wiping at a tear. "Thank you, Professor."

Awkwardly, the two students collected the memory and left the Headmistress's office, eager to discuss what they had seen now that the emotional scenario had abruptly passed.

"So the baby was born, and then Helena was murdered," Draco began, gesturing with interest, "but what happened next?" He paused, glancing at Hermione. "I'll be honest, the Bloody Baron has never been one with whom I've been able to carry a conversation. Until a thousand years ago, of course."

A trace of a smile slipped onto Hermione's lips at the absurdity of the statement. To anyone else it would have sounded like utter nonsense. He rolled his eyes as he realized what had amused her.

"Maybe Helena knows more about what happened after?" Hermione offered, her heart clenching still as the memories replayed in her mind. "We can try."

Draco frowned, deep in thought. But then he gave her a tight smile, his fingers grazing hers. "Right. Maybe she knows what happened after."

He shoved both hands into his pockets and gestured with his shoulder that they walk. His brow remained furrowed when Hermione glanced over at him, as if whatever thought had occurred to him continued to linger.

Helena, it seemed, had been waiting for them to return. She was once more gazing out from her window. She turned to them, her usual mournful expression once more affixed to her face.

"You have learned the truth," she whispered.

"Yes," Hermione confessed, eyes wide. "Helena, I am so sorry."

"As am I, a thousand years later." Helena floated away from the window, looking down at the floor. "It is a pain I could never have imagined, one that has never left me. To have held my daughter for mere moments."

"What happened to her?" Draco asked. "Do you know?"

"I know some of what happened, yes," Helena said. Despite the painful subject, it was almost as if she had been waiting for so long to share her story and she was eager to tell it.

"Some of what I know came from Waldo, once he returned to Hogwarts as well; he is… not the same as he was, then. Death, despair and hatred have addled his mind. He is not the man I loved, once." Helena drifted back to her window. "Waldo returned to England with Audrey, and traveled to Scotland to bury my body. I came to Hogwarts, of course; as ghosts we are mostly relegated to one location but I delayed my travels and it took me a number of years, almost a decade, to arrive; I was horrendously aggrieved."

Helena paused, taking a tight breath.

"I wanted to see my beloved Audrey grow up but she wouldn't come to Hogwarts until she was eleven years of age. My mother had fallen ill, according to Waldo, shortly after she learned of my death, while I was travelling. She was no longer here when I returned.

"Waldo left Audrey with a sympathetic cousin of his, then left to seek revenge upon his father for my death." She gazed out the window for a long moment. "It was drawn out and did not end well. It was… so I'm told, very bloody. Waldo and his father, in the end, finished each other off with fatal wounds. Audrey became an orphan, raised by Waldo's cousin, but she retained the name of Burke. I waited eleven years."

"Did you meet her, when she came to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, curious despite herself to hear the story.

"I saw her," Helena said, not meeting Hermione's gaze. "I observed her and I watched her from afar. I could not admit to her that I had birthed her and then passed so shortly after, having never spent any time with her. When Waldo had arrived here, he was already on the brink of madness. I think he was so lost in his own mind, that by the time his daughter came to Hogwarts, he hardly noticed. He still has moments of lucidity, of course; but they are rare, indeed. He carries guilt with him as a cloak, always."

Hermione met Draco's eye in a significant way. Was this perhaps why Helena lingered? Shame over being unable to know her daughter? But he turned back to Helena.

"I have one other question," Draco said after a moment. "Why create the story about Waldo killing you? If you loved each other, why would you want people to believe such a thing?"

"It was terrible," Helena said, mournful once more. "But Waldo and I agreed – before his mind started to slip – that it was best for Audrey's protection. His father wasn't the only one in his family with such severe blood fanaticism and it was easiest for us to pretend there was no connection between the two of us and Audrey. Years later, I began to regret the story as it was told, but it was too late, and he was too far gone."

Draco stared at her with his brow furrowed but he nodded. Hermione chewed her lip as she stared at Helena.

"I am sorry that you had to go through this all," Hermione breathed, meeting Helena's pale eyes. "I am sorry I could not do more for you while we were together. That I could not find some way to help you."

Helena offered Hermione a sad smile, and translucent tears ran down her cheeks.

"I believe you did more for me than you realize, Hermione," the ghost said quietly. "And seeing you again today, after so many years, is a wonderful gift."

Hermione's breath caught and Draco slipped his hand into hers, reassuringly. She leaned into his side, drawing strength, and smiled.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Friends, I can't say enough how much your support means to me. I haven't had a chance to respond to all of the reviews from the last chapter, but I cherished them all, and I'm sorry to have made so many of you sad!
> 
> Also, I've posted two new group fest one-shots recently. One sweet and one smutty. :) Give a read if either of those catch your interest! Thanks xo
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Despite being initially overwhelmed and feeling emotionally halved, Hermione found herself reintegrating into her life in 1999 as the week passed.

She spent most of her time distracting herself in the library, in her favourite overstuffed armchair that she had admittedly missed. NEWT preparation kept her mind from the many other questions that raced through it.

For instance, while the truth behind Helena and Waldo's deaths was both emotional and shocking, she was no closer to knowing how she might help her friend – and Waldo as well, given that he had not been at fault for her death – than they had been in the past.

There had to be something they were still missing.

Beyond that, there was the fact that she hadn't learned why Ravenclaw had decided to bring her and Draco into the past. She was beginning to wonder if she might never learn the truth of that matter, but it seemed so significant that she couldn't simply dismiss it.

Then there was Draco. While they weren't exactly hiding their relationship, they weren't flaunting it either and as a result she had merely spent most of the week on her own. Usually when she had seen him he was with either Nott or Zabini, or both.

She wasn't entirely certain Theodore Nott even knew who she was, as he had never ridiculed nor spoken to her, in all the years they had attended Hogwarts together. But she knew he and Draco held a deep connection that went beyond their opposite personalities. Nott's father had been a Death Eater as well, and to Hermione's knowledge he hadn't survived the final battle.

Nott had been in line for the same fate as Draco following the end of their seventh year, had things gone differently, and so Hermione understood why Draco and Nott now seemed inseparable.

Zabini on the other hand, while not actively involved with the dark side during the war, tended to be outspoken and arrogant. A few times she had seen Draco snickering at Zabini's comments, though the words of the dark Slytherin didn't seem the carry the ire she remembered from years past.

The few stolen and private moments Hermione had been able to spend with Draco had been a quiet reminder of who he was now – and how she had grown to care for him – though she wished they could be more open. It had struck her like a hammer – she missed him.

She would speak to him about it this weekend, she decided. If he was simply keeping things quiet for her sake, or through some misguided sense of protection, it was something they should discuss.

As if her thoughts had summoned the blond, he slid into the chair beside her with a surreptitious glance at the nearby tables.

Given that the library on Saturday mornings was generally reserved for exam week or the socially inept, no one was near enough to show any interest. Hermione smiled when he pressed a quick kiss to her lips then withdrew, resting his forehead against hers for a moment before leaning back.

"Surprised I found you?" he murmured teasingly.

"Not particularly," Hermione acquiesced, setting aside the book she had been reading. She smiled. "But I'm glad you did. I was hoping to talk to you."

"About what?" he clipped, taking another look around. By the tension in his shoulders and the alertness in his face, Hermione surmised he didn't intend to stay long and her heart sank slightly.

"It isn't urgent," she said, forcing a smile. "What did you need?"

"It's a Hogsmeade visit today," he said softly. Hermione blinked, having completely forgotten. "And I had already arranged to go with Theo  _before_  we left for the past, but I thought…" he trailed off, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. "If you wanted, I could skive off early and we could spend some time together without having to worry about anyone being around?"

"I have a different idea," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. She rotated her hand and entwined their fingers. "Why don't you go with Theo and I'll go with Ginny or Luna and you and I can meet up for a Butterbeer later."

His brows flickered as he met her gaze. "Are you sure? People would see us."

"Let them," she breathed, her brow furrowing. "I don't want to hide this like I'm ashamed, Draco."

"Neither do I," he agreed, though he hesitated, running his fingers through his hair. "I thought you wanted to take things slow. I haven't wanted to push."

"What's the worst that can happen?" Hermione asked, genuinely curious, tucking her feet beneath her as she turned to him. "Will your mother cause problems?"

"She might," he admitted, "but at the end of the day, I think she would prefer for me to be happy. My father can't do anything, like I told you at the Solstice Ball, because with him in Azkaban the head of the house falls on me. He will complain but he can't disinherit me." His lips twitched.

"What about Nott and Zabini?" Hermione asked, chewing her lip nervously. Draco rolled his eyes and waved a hand dismissively.

"No," he said simply with a snicker. "Potter and Weasley?"

"I have no idea how they'll react," Hermione said with a wry smile.

"I have an idea," Draco said with a grimace, "and it isn't pleasant."

"Well the good news is that I won't see them for months," Hermione said absently, tracing her fingers across the bones of his hand. "They're both in the middle of Auror training."

"And you suppose keeping it from them until June is going to make the blow any softer? Or them learning from someone else?" Draco asked, though his expression remained amused. Privately, Hermione wondered if he wasn't looking forward to ruffling the feathers of her two best friends.

"It won't be the first time they've been upset with me," she said quietly, "and if they still don't trust my judgement after everything we've been through…" she trailed off, shrugging. "They'll just have to accept it."

Draco snorted but he didn't argue as he smirked. "If you insist," he murmured, dropping a lingering kiss to her lips that had Hermione's heart racing, "then I would be honoured to take you on a real, honest-to-Merlin date. And I'm going to buy you as many Butterbeers as you can drink," he kissed her again, "because I actually have money again."

He gave her an authentic grin and Hermione's breath caught as she smiled in return.

"If I have a date," Hermione breathed, "then I suppose I ought to get ready."

He watched, grey eyes full of heat, as she packed her books and stood to leave the peace of the library. He followed and bit down hard on his lower lip to combat a grin as he said, "I much prefer this skirt on you, have I mentioned?"

Hermione spun, lifting a hand to swat him as she fought a smile but he caught her wrist easily, tugging her closer.

She cast a glance around the library but it was still desolate. She looked back to Draco and his eyes were burning as they gazed into hers.

"You haven't, actually," she said, attempting flippancy but cursing inwardly as a hitched breath betrayed her.

"I should have," he murmured, dragging his free hand along the fabric, skimming her bottom. "It makes your arse look  _fantastic_."

Hermione snorted indelicately, even as heat flooded her veins at his words. She only retorted, " _not_  the library," as she turned and led him from the library.

"I'll accept it for now," he replied with a smirk, his tone so aristocratic Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

She grinned widely at him, entwining their fingers and as she distractedly turned into the corridor she found herself caught in the wide hazel eyes of Theodore Nott.

He stared at the two of them, mouth hanging half open. "What the fuck," he whispered unblinkingly, more to himself than anyone else, then louder, "seriously?"

"Nott," Draco said tentatively, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Fucking seriously?" Nott repeated, blinking. He looked between the two of them, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "What the fuck."

"Seriously," Draco said, his eyebrows flickering and lips twitching with amusement.

"I consider myself extremely fucking observant, as you well know!" Nott exclaimed, still looking utterly bewildered.

"It's a long story," Hermione said quickly, taking the cue from Draco's amusement that Nott wouldn't cause any problems.

"Well, you'd better start fucking talking then," Nott said with a glare in Draco's direction, though his tone was light.

"Ignore the excessive profanity," Draco said to Hermione in a loud aside with a smirk, "Nott gets like this when he's not the first to know something."

As if to further goad the dark-haired Slytherin, he wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist, drawing her in closer. Nott's hazel eyes followed the movement and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

"I mean…" Nott trailed off and Hermione could practically hear the cogs whirring in his brain. She had always known Nott to be extremely intelligent but had never heard him speak so much in her life. "Obviously, I'm happy for you, then?"

"Are you, then?" Draco mocked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I am, you prick," Nott threw back at him and Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Draco rolled his eyes but grinned.

"So Granger and I were doing patrols  __a short while ago, and we came across this portal which transported us to Hogwarts on September first in the year 999, where we were re-sorted and we integrated into life in the tenth century with the Hogwarts founders teaching us. We didn't have a choice but to work together to figure out a way home, and in the end Rowena Ravenclaw built the portal which transported us back in time in the first place. We spent almost five months there and we've only just returned. As a result, we worked through our issues and grew to care for one another. Also, Salazar Slytherin was terrifying, mate."

Draco stared blankly at Nott as he finished his matter-of-fact telling of the story. Nott stared blankly in return.

"Fuck off, Draco," Nott scoffed. "That isn't even a good story."

"It's the one you're getting," the blond said with an obnoxious grin. Hermione choked on a laugh. Draco turned to her, untangling their fingers. "I'll see you later? Two o'clock?"

"Two is perfect," she said, flashing the two Slytherins a smile. Nott was still staring at her in disbelief as she rounded the corner towards Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

Hermione edged through the crowd at the Three Broomsticks at ten minutes to two later that afternoon. She chose a booth at the back of the pub; while she had no qualms about meeting Draco in public, she didn't particularly want to be gawked at so she selected a table with lower visibility.

She shrugged out of her cloak and hung it on the coat rack before siding into the booth, facing the door so she could see when Draco arrived.

She fidgeted anxiously with a loose thread on her sleeve, both nervous and excited to meet Draco for a date. She nearly jumped in her seat as two individuals launched themselves into the other side of her booth, wide grins plastered on their faces.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, green eyes wide and sparkling as he took her in.

Beside him Ron was grinning toothily, hands held out as if to say 'surprise!'

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione said, swallowing as her gaze swung to the closed door of the pub. "What are you two doing here?"

"We had the weekend off Auror training and Gin told us it was a Hogsmeade weekend," Ron explained, looking proud of himself. "Thought we would come surprise you!"

"I'm certainly surprised!" she proclaimed, forcing a smile. "How are you finding training?"

"It's great, Hermione," Harry said with an easy smile. "The DMLE agents in charge of training are tough but fair. Ron gripes because we haven't got the NEWTs everyone else has and there are certain spells we don't know yet."

"I told you that would be the case, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she tore her gaze from the door despite her keen vigil. She wasn't prepared to tell Harry and Ron about Draco just yet, and not in such a crowded pub.

"Right, well I thought it would just be general theory you know," Ron said, rubbing the back of his head. "Didn't know we would need to have mastered human transfiguration and that."

Harry shook his head with a grin. "I don't expect you'll get much sympathy from Hermione on that, mate. She had it mastered in sixth."

Hermione bit her lip to refrain from agreeing with Harry.

"But otherwise, everything's great," Harry continued, nodding. Hermione smiled, seeing that the two boys really did seem happy. It was something she still wasn't accustomed to, even almost a year after the final battle. "How's eighth year going? I imagine it's been uneventful without having to drag our sorry arses out of trouble every week."

Hermione's brows flew into her hair at the thought of her year being uneventful, given that she had returned from an entirely different era earlier that week.

It was nice to see her friends again – although it was surely a matter of time before they would ask why she was seated at a booth alone.

Suddenly Harry and Ron stiffened across from her and, feeling a thrill of fear, Hermione turned to see Draco standing in the aisle, eyes wide, a Butterbeer in each hand. He must have seen her from the door but at the angle she had positioned herself, he wouldn't have seen Harry or Ron until he had approached.

"Are you lost, Malfoy?" Harry asked quietly, his green eyes suddenly chilly. Hermione saw his wand hand twitch.

"He looks lost," Ron agreed, glaring at the blond.

Draco's uncertain gaze flickered from Harry and Ron, seated across from her, to settle on her own. As his grey eyes narrowed slightly, as if by instinct, Hermione recognized the moment for what it was – a test. A challenge of whether she meant what she had said earlier. She swallowed heavily.

"He isn't lost," Hermione announced in the most flippant tone she could manage as she slid further into the booth. "He's meeting me."

Draco silently placed one of the Butterbeers in front of Hermione and the other at the end of the table as he elegantly took the seat beside her. Hermione could feel the tension radiating from his body, could see the set of his jaw.

Harry and Ron stared, mouths agape, looking between her and Draco, almost comically in sync. Then Harry's jaw slammed shut.

" _What_ ," he bit out through clenched teeth. " _Why_  would Malfoy be meeting you at the Three Broomsticks, Hermione?"

Hermione chewed her lip, glancing to Draco. His narrowed eyes were fixed on Harry, who returned the glare in equal measure. Ron wore an expression of bewilderment as he watched Hermione, waiting for a response.

Hermione took a sip of her Butterbeer and cleared her suddenly dry throat.

"Because we're together," she said, quietly but firmly. Draco's eyebrows flickered at the admission and she grasped his clenched fist beneath the table. Slowly, his fingers loosened and entwined with hers.

"Together," Ron choked, turning red. "Together!"

"Please tell me this is some bad joke," Harry grit out. His wand hand had vanished and Hermione thought he was probably holding it beneath the table.

Hermione suspected Draco didn't trust himself to speak. Indeed, his breathing was so shallow she couldn't tell he was doing so at all. He was clutching her hand so hard it began to hurt. His hand immediately loosened as she wiggled the trapped fingers.

"Together," Hermione repeated, keeping her chin high. She could do this for him. For them.

"And at what point," Harry said, his voice deadly calm and quiet, "between being on the run for your life from  _his_  kind, being  _tortured_  by his aunt, or being nearly killed by his  _friend_  did you decide to forget who you are, Hermione?"

The sting of Harry's words was pushed back as Hermione jumped in her seat at the slam of Draco's free hand on the table. He was leaning forward, teeth bared, his face furrowed with anger. His untouched Butterbeer sloshed dangerously close to the rim of the mug.

"Don't you  _fucking dare_ , Potter –" he hissed but Hermione cut him off with a sharp look.

Ron was shaking his head, arms folded across his chest, ears red. He seemed lost for words.

"It was at the point when I realized  _he_  wasn't responsible for  _any_ of those things, he didn't have a  _choice_  in what happened to him, and when I decided to give another chance to a  _friend_!" Hermione exclaimed, holding Harry's furious gaze.

She was suddenly glad she had chosen a table out of the way. Beside her Draco sat straight again, his body entirely still with tension.

"A friend," Harry scoffed. "You have a funny definition of the word, Hermione."

" _My_  understanding of the word 'friend', Harry, is someone who trusts someone else enough to make their own decisions, or at least makes an effort to understand," Hermione hissed. "Without being  _instantly_  cruel and judgemental."

"It isn't that we don't trust  _you_ , Hermione," Ron said, finally speaking up again. "It's him we don't trust."

"By saying you don't trust him, you're saying you don't trust  _me_ ," Hermione said stiffly. She couldn't bring herself to look at Draco; his tense silence made her uneasy.

"I'm saying I can't accept this," Harry said quietly. He stood roughly from the bench and stormed out of the pub.

Ron lingered even as he slid to the edge of the bench as if to follow, looking incredibly uncomfortable as his eyes darted between Hermione and Draco.

"I don't like this either," Ron said, though his tone was slightly apologetic. "Hermione, I know things didn't work out for us, but I still care about you. And Harry – after everything that happened, in Godric's Hollow –" he glanced to Draco, "– at Malfoy Manor – Harry made himself a promise he would always protect you."

Hermione ground her teeth, even as she felt Ron's words sting her heart more than Harry's callous ones had done.

Ron shrugged. "I suspect he feels he's failed."

Hermione glanced at Draco; he remained perfectly still, the only signs he was even listening his tight jaw and narrowed eyes. She wished she knew what was passing through his undoubtedly chaotic mind.

"Well then," Hermione said quietly, "you can tell Harry I've never been so happy with someone before, so he certainly hasn't."

There was a long, meaningful squeeze to her hand.

Ron grimaced, staring at her for a long moment.

"Are you sure, Hermione?" He hesitated. "I mean, I know it isn't my place but –"

"I'm sure," she said absently. Ron stared at Hermione for another extended beat. Then he took in Draco's furrowed brow, shaking his head.

"I'll try to talk to him," he said on a long exhale. "But Malfoy, I swear to Merlin –"

"I know," Draco clipped, the first words he had spoken since Harry's outburst. His words were sharp and precise. "I do not intend to hurt her."

As Ron shoved his way out of the booth, Hermione frowned, stunned at Ron's begrudging acceptance and Harry's unfiltered anger. If anything, she might have expected the opposite. She let out a heavy breath, turning to Draco, who looked rather grey.

"That was…" she breathed, trailing off.

Draco pursed his lips, staring vacantly into his Butterbeer, still untouched.

"I'm sorry," he murmured quietly, not looking at her. "I need to… go for a walk, or something." There was something strained in his tone that suggested it wasn't an invitation. His gaze flickered across to her but didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'll see you back at school."

His hand gave hers one last squeeze before he untangled his fingers, carding them through his disheveled hair as he swept from the booth and the pub.

Hermione stared numbly at his Butterbeer for a long minute, finding it inconceivable that the drama had been constrained within the confines of the now quiet booth. But yet, no one so much as looked in her direction in the back corner.

She let out a heavy breath and took an unsteady sip of her Butterbeer. She set the mug down when she realized her hand was shaking.

Had it only been hours before that she and Draco had sat together in the library, playfully discussing how they could publicly be together?

She suspected she knew where Draco's mind had gone to. His past in comparison to hers – how the sentiment would no doubt be a common one. She had learned he was quite prone to self-loathing when he thought the occasion called for it.

Hermione found herself suddenly in no rush to return to Hogwarts, knowing she would likely be unable to find Draco until later, if at all. So she sipped her Butterbeer, doing her best to push back all the emotions that threatened her, the hot stinging at her eyes.

She dropped her head to her arms, folded on the table, and wished she could simply melt into the wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: *hides*


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I couldn't make you all wait too long after that last chapter! I can hardly believe we're at chapter 20. Thanks to everyone who's stuck around for so long, and thanks as well to those of you joining in on the ride. It's been a really amazing journey and I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read, review, and/or follow!
> 
> Special shout-out to caprubia for having sharp eyes and catching a continuity error in the last chapter!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

As it turned out, Hermione didn't see Draco for the rest of the day. He wasn't at dinner and while a part of her wanted to search him out, she suspected he needed the time alone – and if he didn't want to be found, she wouldn't likely find him.

His uncharacteristic silence at the Three Broomsticks had rattled Hermione to her core. She didn't think he was mad or upset with her, but she worried about what had been going through his mind, or what he might have been telling himself.

By the following afternoon, however, with Draco's noticeable absence from both breakfast and lunch, Hermione was done letting him wallow.

She crept into the kitchens and swiped him a sandwich and an apple, expecting he would probably be hungry, and then she ventured out.

Hermione checked all the places she suspected he might have been hiding out. The library, the Quidditch pitch, even the Owlery. She tried to access the Room of Requirement but the fire from the previous year had damaged the magic too badly, and it had yet to recover.

She sighed as she ambled the halls, wishing she had asked Harry to lend her the Marauder's Map at the start of her eighth year.

If she were Draco and wanted to be alone, she would probably choose the least likely place people would think to look for her. A thought struck her and she frowned, even as she chewed her lip nervously. Was he so despondent? She wasn't sure.

Steeling herself, Hermione began the long trek to the top of the Astronomy Tower, which she had avoided since the death of Dumbledore had occurred atop it.

Her heart plunged into her stomach when she found Draco, seated on a transfigured couch identical to the one that had been in the Room of Requirement in the past, on which they had spent so much time together.

His arms were folded across his chest, his brow furrowed and lips pursed, even as he slouched in his seat. He tensed when she entered the circular room but didn't look at her.

"Really?" Hermione asked, venturing a step toward him as she looked around the room. He gave a noncommittal shrug. "Are you trying to beat yourself up?"

"It seemed logical at the time," he murmured, his tone empty.

"It sort of seems like you're trying to punish yourself," Hermione said softly. She sat on the edge of the cushion beside him on the couch, turning her knees to face him. He didn't answer and Hermione sighed. With a jolt she noticed the small wooden carving she had given him was standing on the end table beside him. She smiled despite the gravity of the situation.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, rummaging in her bag.

"Yes," he said shortly, gazing through the open window. He seemed to have used a heating charm on the room because despite the cool January breeze floating in, the air was warm.

Hermione handed him the sandwich and apple. Draco turned to her, his brows knitting together with a murmured "thanks."

He dropped his arms and folded his legs beneath him, sitting cross-legged on the cushion. He took a large bite of the apple, savouring the juicy fruit.

Hermione slipped her shoes off and brought her knees up to her chest on the couch, folding them and tucking her feet beneath one of his legs.

"Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?" she asked calmly.

"Not particularly," Draco said, swallowing a bite of the apple. "But I apologize for how I behaved."

"You're not the one who has anything to apologize for, in my opinion," she said quietly, frowning. "But you did make me nervous."

"Then I apologize for making you nervous," he said, a hint of a smirk playing about his lips. Almost instantly he sobered, turning to her. "Hermione, I –" he swallowed thickly, "really like you. But I can't be the reason people treat you like that. If your  _best friends_  can't accept this…" He shook his head. "Hermione, you'll always be treated like that with me by your side."

Hermione felt her heart racing, her breath quickening at his words. He couldn't mean what she was thinking.

"Maybe..." he said, his stormy eyes flickering to the wooden carving, "maybe this was only meant to be something in the past. Our paths will always be too different here." He let out a long, shaky breath. "Maybe I don't deserve a happy ending."

So this was why he was in the Astronomy Tower.

"And what about  _my_ happy ending?" Hermione breathed, feeling hot tears prick the corners of her eyes.

"You'll have yours, I'm certain of it," he said quietly, avoiding her gaze. "But maybe it doesn't involve me."

"What if I  _want_  it to involve you, Draco Malfoy?" she said, eyes blazing. He looked over, and she was glaring at him through tears. "You don't get to  _decide_  what my happy ending looks like!"

He rubbed a hand over his face. "Hermione, I –"

"I  _know_  you, Draco!" she exclaimed, cutting him off. "I  _know_  what you've done, and I know who you are now, and don't you  _dare_  let Harry's words degrade everything you've gone through!"

"They were the truth," he seethed through gritted teeth. "Every  _fucking_  word he said was true."

Hermione wrenched a sheet of parchment from her bag and roughly shoved it into Draco's chest. He raised a pale eyebrow and took it, his eyes scanning the text. Hermione had memorized it after it had arrived that morning at breakfast.

_Hermione,_

_I'm sorry for the way I acted yesterday. You've always stood by me and I was a great arse and Ron thinks so, too. If you've seen something else in Malfoy this year, I trust you. Tell Malfoy I don't like him but I apologize and will try to give him a chance. I'm glad he makes you happy._

_Harry_

Draco clenched his jaw and crumpled the letter in his fist. He stared blankly out the window again. He unwrapped the sandwich and ate it before he spoke, vanishing the wrapper and the apple core.

"I don't know what to tell you," he said quietly.

"Tell me you aren't ready to give up on me," she whispered, biting her lip. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

"I could never give up on you," he breathed. "But I don't want to ruin your life."

"But you've made it so much better," Hermione implored, her eyes stinging again. She took his hand. " _Faith_ , Draco."

He glanced at her, offering a hint of a wry smile. "Faith." He let out a breath. "It  _was_  a pretty terrible idea to come up here." He cringed as he looked around the room.

"It was!" Hermione agreed, eyes wide. "Have you been here since you left the Three Broomsticks?"

"No," he scoffed. "I went to the Hog's Head. Drank too much firewhiskey. Then came here and slept it off." At Hermione's disapproving look he held up his hands. "I know. I wasn't thinking straight."

"Come for a walk outside with me?" she asked, looking up at him.

"It's freezing out," he said, though he glanced to her and the light had returned to his eyes.

Fighting a smile, Hermione reached into her bag once more and handed him her Gryffindor scarf. He stared at the offering, chewing his tongue for a moment before he scoffed.

"Really," he said, his eyebrows flickering with disbelief.

"Yes, really," Hermione said, pushing the scarf into his hands. He weighed the material as he looked at her for a long moment. His lips curved into a smile.

"But I'll look like yours," he murmured, his grey eyes full of heat, and Hermione was reminded of the first time he had said those words.

"That's the point," she breathed, pressing a kiss to his lips. He grabbed her face and kissed her harder, until Hermione's head spun when he pulled away.

Hermione stood, slipping her shoes back on and slinging her bag over a shoulder. Draco stood as well, slipping the carving into his pocket and shrugging his cloak on.

The scarf still in his hand, Draco drew Hermione into an embrace, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Hermione melted into him, reaching her own around his back.

"I'm so sorry I left you alone," he murmured into her ear. He pulled back, meeting her eyes. "I should have been there for you. I just… didn't know what to do."

"I know," Hermione whispered. "I'm sorry they took it so poorly."

" _That_ ," he said, kissing her temple, "is not your fault."

He stepped away, offering her a tight smile as if to shake off the melancholy that had trapped him. He wrapped her Gryffindor scarf around his neck with a grimace. "Red isn't my colour."

Hermione rather agreed with him but she liked the look of it all the same.

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets as they left the Astronomy Tower and made their way on to the school grounds.

"I've been thinking a lot," he said absently, glancing at her once they were outside. "About Helena and Waldo and the fact that they had a baby."

"I have too," Hermione agreed. "I've been wondering what else there is to the story. I mean, the fact that they had a child so soon before they both died is mind-boggling to say the least. I wonder if it doesn't connect somehow."

"Right," Draco said, suddenly animated. "Do you realize, Hermione, that it has always been believed that Ravenclaw's line ended one generation after the founder herself? Rowena never had another child and she died of illness well before her time. The fact that Helena had a child in secret... well it obviously changes so much."

He was gazing thoughtfully at nothing, his brow furrowed in extreme concentration.

"Definitely. The implications could be staggering," Hermione breathed. They walked in silence, each deep in thought.

"Are you cold?" Draco asked some time later, eyeing her carefully. His eyes settled on the bare skin of her neck. "You can have your scarf back if you like."

"It's yours," Hermione said lightly. "I'm not too cold yet."

"I'll give you my Slytherin scarf later," he teased. He removed a hand from his pocket and held hers. Hermione smiled at the thought.

But then Draco turned to stare at her again, a curious expression on his face. It was one she knew well; when he was trying to figure something out that was unattainable, or just beyond reach. Her brow furrowed as she stared back at him, waiting. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

"We need to go talk to Helena," he clipped, swallowing heavily. "Now."

Hermione simply nodded, eyes wide. Whatever it was he had figured out had him rattled. He clutched her hand tighter, as if to keep from fidgeting as they walked. His sudden disposition made Hermione nervous, if she was honest.

Draco slowed his pace abruptly when they neared Ravenclaw Tower. Helena was staring through her window once more, as she had been doing the last time they had been to see her. The ghost turned to them with a smile and Hermione found she was still startled to see Helena in her translucent form.

"Hello Hermione, Draco. It's wonderful to see you again."

Helena turned back to her window.

"Helena, may I ask you a question?" Draco asked, brow furrowed. He extracted his hand from Hermione's, taking a step forward.

"Of course," Helena said, gesturing softly with a hand. She turned to look at Draco, offering the two of them a warm smile, which Hermione returned.

"What became of Audrey, after Hogwarts?" Draco asked, gazing momentarily through Helena's window, as if to see what was so interesting. Hermione simply stared, still at a loss as to what he was thinking and what answers he was seeking.

"I didn't know for a number of years, then one day her daughter arrived. I was so overwhelmed, I knew instantly it was her. I watched her, too, as she completed her schooling." A smile graced Helena's lips. "She was wonderfully brilliant, Audrey's daughter. Beautiful, too. Her name was Edith." The smile fell from her mouth, replaced with a frown. "Edith gave birth to a Squib, I heard. She was the last of the line I was able to observe here at Hogwarts; her child was likely cast into a Muggle life. I dwelled, clinging to hope that I might one day see another daughter of my house, but over time I lost track. I know not whether the line still lives on or has died out."

"How did you know Edith was Audrey's child? Did she carry the name of Burke also?" Draco asked, sharply. Hermione simply listened, baffled.

"Audrey had married; I knew Edith by the necklace she wore. It was the one I had given Audrey when she was born; the one my mother had given me, which came from her mother and so on," Helena explained. "Passed through generations of women in my matriarchal line."

"We didn't get a good look at the necklace," Draco continued, his eyes flickering to Hermione. She shot him a curious glance; why was the necklace so important?

"It was just a simple silver chain with a star pendant," Helena responded. "Nothing ornate. My family was not overly wealthy."

Hermione froze, instantly meeting Draco's gaze, already resting on her. Her hand halted where she absently fidgeted with her own necklace, her fingers curling around the star pendant.

"Where did you get your necklace, Hermione?" Draco asked, his tone low and imploring. His expression was serious as she stared at him.

"It was a gift from my mother," Hermione whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. "I've simply always had it."

"Let me see it," Helena said as she spun rapidly, drifting towards Hermione. She reached a ghostly hand out and Hermione shivered as the cold hand grazed her throat, passing through it. Helena stared for a long moment, then shook her head. "I don't believe it."

"Wait... " Hermione began, swallowing. Draco was staring at her in a very significant way. "What? You can't possibly mean…"

"Over nine hundred years of a Muggle line, born of a Squib, come from a very powerful magical house," he breathed. "Granger…"

Her breathing grew heavy as her heart began to race. "I don't understand…" she whispered. Something deep inside her felt like denial as it pounded against her chest.

Draco stepped toward her, fingering the necklace absently, which suddenly felt heavy on her neck. "Open your eyes, Hermione," he murmured. His hand slid around to the back of her neck. "The line rests on you. Born of Muggles, but in your veins runs the long lost blood of Rowena Ravenclaw herself."

"It must be true," Helena whispered and when Hermione turned to her, the ghost was crying. "Finally, the day has come when I meet another daughter of Ravenclaw." Then she laughed, despite the tears. "And to think, we spent months together!"

"You didn't recognize the necklace then?" Draco asked in surprise, turning to the ghost.

"At the time, it wouldn't have been so significant," Helena replied, still looking awed. "It was only once Audrey was born that I began watching for it at Hogwarts, to recognize my heirs."

"I also didn't always wear it," Hermione whispered, her eyes wide as she attempted to wrap her head around all that had been revealed. "I wear it when I miss my mother especially."

"You wore it to the Solstice Ball," Draco said quietly, turning to face her.

"That's right," Hermione said, wrapping her fingers around the small pendant once more.

"I can't believe I didn't notice it then." Helena was shaking her head, dumbfounded. "I didn't look close enough; I merely thought you were wearing a nice necklace." She turned to Draco. "Have you attempted to speak with Waldo yet? The Bloody Baron, as they now call him."

"Not yet," the blond admitted. "I haven't seen him in the dungeons. I mean to look for him this week. Maybe if he sees me, or Hermione… he might remember us."

"As I told you before," Helena said, floating to her window once more, "he is changed, to the point where he is almost unrecognizable. On rare occasion he is lucid, and he and I can once again speak with one another, but only to a certain extent. I think he would like to learn that Hermione is descended from Audrey. It may help bring some peace to his mind, as it has mine."

Hermione shared a meaningful glance with Draco. Perhaps these were steps to help their ghostly friends. Maybe there was still hope.

"We will find him this week," Hermione confirmed, grasping Draco's hand. "Helena, maybe you would like to tell him with us."

"I shall think on it," Helena said quietly. "It is hard for me, to travel to the dungeons when he does not remember me."

"We understand," Draco said softly. "We will let you know when we mean to speak with him and you can decide." Helena gave him a gracious nod.

"Thank you for sharing so much with us, Helena," Hermione said, walking up to the ghost. Helena turned and laid a translucent hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"I am thrilled by what has come of it," she said with a smile. "After all these years, I once again meet a daughter of my house. Visit me often, yes?"

"Of course," Hermione said, beaming at her old friend, and newfound ancestor. "Helena, what if I never have a daughter?"

"You will," the ghost replied simply. She cast a knowing glance toward Draco before drifting back to her window. Hermione smiled, turning away alongside the blond.

"Oh, and Hermione?" the ghost called. Hermione turned back, the remnants of the smile still upon her lips.

"Yes?"

"I can't believe you're in  _Gryffindor_."

* * *

"How did you know about the necklace?" Hermione asked after they had walked away.

Draco glanced down the empty hallway and pulled Hermione by the hand into a small, unused room.

"Heirlooms like that necklace are commonly passed down in the wizarding world. As soon as I saw Helena put it on Audrey in the memory, I knew what it was," he explained. "I noticed when you wore it to the Solstice Ball but I forgot about it until I saw you wearing it again today." He stepped closer, fingering the necklace. "I couldn't be positive from the brief glimpse in the memory whether it was the same. Presumably over time, even though your Muggle ancestors no longer knew the relevance, it simply kept on through the line."

"I still can't quite believe it," Hermione admitted, biting her lip. "Is there a way to be sure? A test of lineage, or something?"

"I suppose," Draco said with a shrug. "Although Helena herself confirmed it was the same necklace. There are spells one can perform on an heirloom to determine its lineage. You could trace it back through each generation to when it was made, if you wanted to. It's complicated magic, though. I would have to look it up in the Manor's library."

Hermione's eyes widened at the thought and she peered down at the necklace. "How does this affect me?"

"It doesn't have to affect anything," Draco responded, his brow furrowed. "You don't even have to tell anyone if you choose not to."

"I mean…" she drifted off, casting him a half smile. "It  _is_  sort of cool."

"It's badass," he exclaimed, grey eyes lighting up. "The heir of Ravenclaw? Hermione, it's more than cool. To be honest, I'm surprised the Sorting Hat didn't recognize it and put you in Ravenclaw seven years ago."

"It debated for a long time," she admitted, "supposedly I was one of the biggest hatstalls Hogwarts has ever seen. The hat actually said I would make a great  _daughter of Ravenclaw_. Draco…" Her eyes widened.

"Damn hat is too smart for its own good," he said with a laugh, drawing her into his arms. She leaned into his warmth, her mind drifting absently.

She looked up, meeting his eyes. "We will go see Waldo this week, yes?"

"Yes," Draco agreed with a sigh. "I've been nervous. A part of me doesn't want to see him like that."

"We'll go together," Hermione said softly. "If it might help…"

"Definitely," he said with a nod. He tilted his head, as if deep in thought. "We still need to figure out why Rowena Ravenclaw took us into the past in the first place."

"Only one potentially life-changing mystery per day, please," Hermione murmured, burying her face in his chest.

Draco laughed and planted a kiss into her hair. "Deal."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello! I so greatly appreciate all the love and wonderful support on the last chapter. Your kind words make all the time invested in this fic so worth it. I hope you enjoy this one as well! xoxo
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Only a handful of eighth years were attempting to earn a NEWT in Arithmancy, and so Hermione typically sat alone. Therefore it was with no small measure of surprise that she sat up from fishing her textbook out of her bag to see Blaise Zabini sitting beside her, arms folded as he leaned back in his seat.

"Granger," he said sharply.

"Zabini," she said uneasily, glancing over to where Draco sat with Nott, his face unreadable.

"I'm told you've been spending time with Draco," Zabini said, his dark eyes hard on her.

"What, are you his protector?" Hermione teased in a low voice, fully aware of Draco's unflinching gaze on her.

"Yes," Zabini said simply and Hermione believed him. "He's been through enough, wouldn't you say?"

"I would," she murmured, wondering where this was going. Given that Draco looked irritated and Nott looked amused, it couldn't be anywhere good.

"I thought you might," Zabini said lightly. "Now, I hear you and Draco have spun a convoluted tale to Theo about being sucked into some past era together, and quite frankly, I think it's rubbish and I don't believe a word of it."

Hermione forced a tight smile and nodded.

"It's exactly the sort of thing Draco would tell Theo as a joke," Zabini went on. "However, something's happened to Draco and you seem to be the culprit. He's behaving oddly and seems to have developed a sudden fixation with you."

"Well, you don't believe a word of what happened, Zabini, so I don't know what else to tell you," Hermone said, fighting a smile at the slender, raised brows on his unimpressed face.

"You're trying to string me along, Granger, and I won't have it," Zabini said softly. He slipped a pair of reading glasses on, staring down his nose at her. "What are your intentions with Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione let out an incredulous laugh and threw a look across the room at Draco, whose brows flew into his hair. Then his eyes narrowed and focused on Zabini as he rose from his seat.

"Honourable, I can assure you, Zabini," Hermione choked out.

" _What_  are you doing, Blaise?" Draco hissed as he planted his hands and leaned over the table, glaring at his friend.

"I think he's trying to defend your virtue," Hermione breathed. Draco looked between them, his mouth half agape before he slammed his jaw shut.

"Sit the fuck down, Zabini," Draco clipped, but Zabini was still watching Hermione with cool, appraising eyes.

Nott sidled over, hands in his pockets, and took a seat on the end of Hermione's table. She was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that the three Slytherins in the class were now all clustered around her table. She wished Professor Vector would arrive.

The handful of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in the class were looking on with wide eyes.

Draco pressed his fingertips to his temples, exhaling through his nose. "Can you two please bugger off and leave Hermione alone?"

Nott clicked his tongue then grinned. "I think  _Hermione_  can handle it. Can't you,  _Hermione_?"

Draco shot him a glare that would have had Hermione cowering in her seat if she didn't know him better. But Nott simply chuckled.

"Thanks,  _Theodore_ , I can," she said, teasingly playing along.

Nott shuddered. "Just Theo, if you don't mind."

Just then Professor Vector walked into the room and froze, casting the group of Slytherins a bewildered look.

"Your seats, please, gentlemen," she said briskly, striding to the front of the class. Draco shook his head, meeting Hermione's gaze with an apologetic look as he walked back to his seat. Hermione smiled at him in return.

Nott dropped from his seat on the table and with a grin, re-took his chair beside Draco. But Zabini remained where he was and simply drew a sheet of parchment and a quill from his bag. He pressed a finger firmly into Hermione's textbook and dragged it into the space on the table between them, giving her a look as if daring her to object. Then very deliberately, he pointed with two spread fingers to his own narrowed eyes.

Hermione looked across to Draco who rolled his eyes. With a sigh, Hermione turned to the correct page and did her best to ignore the Slytherin beside her.

At least  _his_ friends hadn't caused any hysterics.

* * *

After dinner that evening, Hermione and Draco stopped at the base of Ravenclaw Tower to check on Helena. She had politely declined to join them in searching for Waldo. And while she had smiled, Hermione could see the strain on Helena's pale face. Hermione couldn't imagine what it must have been like, knowing Waldo was so close but yet so far, for so long.

As they walked down to the dungeons, Hermione noticed Draco seemed increasingly distracted. She intentionally bumped into him, smiling.

"Sorry," he murmured, shifting over.

Hermione slipped her hand into his. "It will be alright, you know?" she murmured. He merely flashed her a tight smile and entwined their fingers.

"Zabini seems quite protective of you," she tried. "He certainly seemed very interested in what you and I are doing."

Draco smirked, looking up as his melancholy mood dissipated.

"The fact that he even bothered to talk to you means he approves, you know," he said softly. "Both Blaise and Theo seem to like you. They think you'll sort me out, whatever that means."

"Well, I'm flattered," Hermione said teasingly, "but neither of them believe what happened to us."

"Are you surprised?" he questioned, raising a brow. "It's a far-fetched story, even for the wizarding world. I don't know that Potter and Weasley would necessarily believe you, either, if you told them."

"I suppose not," Hermione agreed. She grimaced. "Obviously, your friends took the news of us dating better than mine did."

"I think Theo and Blaise know better than to question me," Draco said with a shrug. "Just as I wouldn't question either of them. And like I said, maybe they approve because they just want me to be happy. Theo said yesterday he didn't think he'd seen me smile since fifth year."

Hermione smiled, stepping in closer. "Well then that's good, isn't it?" She chewed her lip for a moment. "I guess I was hoping Ron and Harry would offer me that same unwavering trust."

"They're just trying to look out for you," he said quietly, "albeit, misguided as  _I_  think they were. They think I'm Death Eater scum, so it didn't exactly surprise me that they reacted in that way."

"You  _aren't_ ," Hermione insisted. "And if you were, this conversation wouldn't be happening."

"I appreciate that," he said lightly. Hermione shivered in the cool air of the dungeons, feeling inherently out of place, and Draco slung his arm around her shoulders. "The Baron likes to hide out. He could be anywhere. He could be watching us, for all we know."

After a half hour of wandering the dungeons, searching for the Slytherin ghost, they finally heard the sounds of the Bloody Baron causing trouble in an old trophy room. Hermione could read the apprehension on Draco's face and she wondered if maybe he had been hoping they would have to try again the next day.

It was different with Helena, because she was still in possession of her mental faculties. They had no idea if Baron would even remember them.

Draco scuffed the toe of his expensive dragonhide shoes on the stone floor and Hermione pressed a hand to his back in support.

The Bloody Baron was angrily smashing an iron fire poker into some old trophy.

"Baron," Draco snapped and the ghost didn't look up. "Waldo Baron."

The ghost froze, the poker falling to the ground with a clatter. He spun towards Draco, fury and a broken sort of despair etched onto his features. Then he flew through the wall.

Cursing, Draco followed him through the far exit of the trophy room and Hermione trailed along. They found Waldo again the next corridor down, hovering uncertainly near the potions lab.

"Waldo," Draco tried, softer. "It's Draco Malfoy. Do you remember me?"

The Bloody Baron floated closer, eyes narrowed as he looked between them. Then he groaned, grasping a hold of his own temples, his chains clanking as he flew down the length of the hallway and back again.

"Who?" the ghost hissed, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Draco Malfoy," Draco repeated, running a hand through his hair. "You knew me a thousand years ago. We were Slytherins together. Do you remember?"

"Slytherins," Baron said gruffly, blinking. "Ghost of Slytherin."

"Yes, Slytherin house," Draco repeated. "We went to school together for part of our seventh year."

Baron let out a moan of despair and floated through the wall again. They found him lingering in the trophy room some minutes later, staring blankly at an old trophy.

Hermione peered closer at the tarnished brass, surprised to read it was an award gifted to Helena Ravenclaw for a competition of academic skill, in the month of June 997. Her fifth year, then.

Hermione felt her eyes sting. Even in this state, Baron remembered Helena.

"Malfoy," Baron grunted softly. Draco nodded, staring at the ghost wide-eyed. Hermione suspected he had never seen the ghost properly speak, in over seven years. "Draco Malfoy. We were friends."

"We were friends," Draco repeated, barely more than a whisper, his brow furrowed.

"You left," Baron said, turning accusing eyes on Draco.

Without the aggression, the millenium of built-up anger and hopelessness, Hermione recognized the handsome youth Waldo had been. The keen dark eyes, the scruffy brown hair. Her heart mourned the tragic, short life she now better understood.

"I didn't belong there," Draco said simply. He glanced at Hermione. "We landed in your time by accident, and Rowena sent us back here. That's why I had to leave."

"What are you doing here," the ghost asked. His words were soft and weak; weary.

"I wanted to see you," Draco said, even as he winced. "We've just returned to this time. Waldo, we know what happened, with Helena." He hesitated for a moment. "With Audrey."

Baron turned sharply, eyes flashing with anger and loss. Then he gasped and buried his face in his hands.

"Audrey," he breathed, and Hermione could see the silver tears at the corners of his translucent eyes. "My poor, sweet Audrey. My Helena."

"We're so sorry, Waldo," Hermione offered, the first words she had spoken. "So sorry that you had to go through so much. About… how things ended, for your family."

Baron turned to her and blinked, as if only just noticing she was there.

"Hermione Granger?" he asked, eyes narrowed. Surprisingly, Baron chuckled. "Draco always did talk about you a lot."

Hermione flushed, glancing at Draco.

"Waldo, Helena wanted us to tell you something," Draco said, his tone serious.

"Helena?" Baron asked, his face growing sorrowful once more. "I didn't hate her, you know. I didn't at all. Not when I knew you. For many years, I thought I did. But I grew to love her; she was the only one to see through me."

Draco gave Hermione's hand a squeeze at Waldo's words.

"I know," Draco said softly. "We – we found out, while we were still there. I understand."

"She was my love," Baron whispered. "And Audrey…" Baron floated away across the room again, lost to his grief. "My poor, sweet Audrey."

Hermione bit her lip, her eyes flickering to Draco. She didn't know how to broach the subject Helena had suggested. Draco shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

"Waldo, Helena told us about Audrey's daughter, Edith," Draco said, a bit louder so his voice would carry across the trophy room.

"Edith," Baron repeated, as if he wasn't familiar with the name. Hermione recalled how Waldo had descended into madness shortly after arriving at Hogwarts. She wondered if he even knew of Edith.

"Audrey's daughter, Edith," Draco encouraged. Waldo frowned, running a hand down his pale face.

"Edith was Audrey's daughter," Baron murmured to himself. "Audrey's daughter. She was lovely." Waldo looked up at them. "I do not know what happened to Edith. I… am not aware of all that has happened these many years."

"According to Helena–" Draco began.

"Edith gave birth to a daughter, Waldo," said a soft voice. Helena had joined them after all as she floated towards Baron. He stared at her with incredulity. Hermione wondered if Helena hadn't perhaps been listening in the whole time.

Helena smiled warmly at Hermione and Draco. She extended a half to Waldo, palm up, her eyes shining.

"Helena," Waldo breathed. "There you are."

"It has been a long time, Waldo," Helena murmured, "since I have heard you say my name." She smiled sadly as Waldo traced her palm with the tips of his fingers.

"How long?" It was a whisper.

Hermione glanced at Draco, suddenly feeling as if they were intruding on something personal. But he merely stepped back, offering Hermione a private smile as the ghosts shared a moment.

"It has been many years," Helena breathed, and Hermione could see the tears streaming down her white face.

Hermione's breath hitched as Draco's arm came around her and drew her closer.

"Years," Baron repeated, shaking his head. "My Helena – it is as if I have awoken from a long sleep. Or as if I have been trapped underwater."

Helena nodded, tracing the panes of Waldo's face. "I know," she said quietly. "I do not fault you for it."

Waldo gasped at her touch, his forehead dropping to press against Helena's. Beside Hermione, Draco's brow was furrowed and his lips pursed as he looked on.

"So much has gone wrong," Waldo choked. "So much time we did not get to experience together. With Audrey."

"I know," Helena repeated, her voice trembling. "I do not fault you for any of it, my love."

Hermione sniffled, and she realized tears were streaming down her cheeks, too. Draco pressed a kiss to her brow.

"I could not protect you," Waldo was saying. "And sweet Audrey. I could not save you, my Helena. We could not raise Audrey together, as we had dreamed." He looked around, his gaze watery and forlorn. "I do not remember Edith well. Or her children, or the children who came after them. I do not remember the heirs of my house."

"They did not come to Hogwarts, Waldo," Helena said softly. "Only Audrey and Edith. For Edith's daughter was a Squib."

"A Squib," Waldo gasped, looking devastated. "But… then we do not know what became of her?"

"No," Helena shook her head, "we do not know of Edith's daughter."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in Draco's embrace. She still wasn't certain whether they should have stepped away and allowed the ghosts a moment alone after so long.

"So many years I have lost," Waldo mourned. He shook his head. "I have deserved to suffer."

"You have not," Helena murmured, her hands on Waldo's ghostly face. "You are not to blame for your father's cruel actions, Waldo. I do not hold you accountable. It has pained me so to watch you these centuries. To watch you suffer, though you tried to save me."

"Our lines, lost, and I did not get to meet them," Baron continued, shaking his head still.

"Waldo," Helena breathed, glancing to Hermione. "I have learned, only days ago… when Hermione and Draco returned, they came to me, Waldo. They have only just returned to this time."

Baron visibly started, as if he had forgotten they were there. "Of course," he said, nodding. "They have just returned. Draco told me this."

"Waldo," Helena said again, her voice low, "look at the necklace Hermione wears."

Hermione tensed, nervous, as Waldo's gaze flew to rest on her, and then flickered briefly to Draco. He floated over, his sharp eyes gazing at her necklace.

"It cannot be," he breathed, as if he had recognized the necklace immediately. He turned back to Helena, who had floated over. "How can this be so?"

"Hermione is Muggle-born, Waldo, though she claimed to be half-blood when she was at Hogwarts with us," Helena explained. "Hermione is descended from Edith's line which continued on through Muggles."

Baron gasped, his eyes wide. He stared at Hermione, brow furrowed, as if searching for some trace of Audrey or Edith on her features. "It cannot be," he repeated.

"It is so," Helena nodded. "Is it not marvelous, that we finally may see the continuation of the houses of Baron and Ravenclaw, manifested so many years later in our friend Hermione."

"And it shall carry on with the union of Hermione and Draco," Waldo stated matter-of-factly, even as he gazed between the two of them with rapt and unfettered intent.

Hermione quickly looked away from Draco at the thought, as he awkwardly dug his toe into the floor.

But Helena was staring at Waldo, blatant love and adoration on her features. Hermione had to avert her gaze from the ghosts, too.

"I have not clung to hope that I would one day speak with you like this again," Helena said softly as she hovered alongside Waldo. "For so long, I have wanted to speak of these things with you."

Waldo ran a hand along Helena's cheekbone. "I am sorry I have not been here with you, for all this time." He tugged a strand of her hair, a youthful grin on his face and Helena giggled. Hermione and Draco stared on, bewildered. "I have so long been adrift in grief."

"We have time now, moving forward, if you will stay with me," Helena said softly.

"I will do everything I can to stay present with you," Baron proclaimed. "The thought of losing any more time together leaves my heart bereft of joy."

"Then I shall do my best to keep you with me," Helena said, smiling widely and joyfully. "Because I will not lose you again."

Baron's ghost playfully tackled Helena's, and Draco shot Hermione a sidelong glance. Hermione edged away; she so desperately wanted the two ghosts to be happy together, if only in death, where they could not have been in life.

As if thinking the same, Draco led Hermione away from the trophy room. Helena turned and gave them a quick wave before drifting away through the wall with Baron.

They travelled several hallways before speaking, to be sure the ghosts weren't following them.

"I want them to be able to work through their grief," Hermione said, "but does that mean they will leave? Or simply that they will find peace as ghosts?"

"I suspect they might be synonymous," Draco admitted, "though that would be a task for the library. I think if they both truly found peace, they would cross over."

"I think so, too," Hermione said, thoughtfully chewing her lower lip. "Although it will be sad regardless, having come to know them as ghosts now."

"Of course it will," Draco nodded. "But just think – for a  _thousand_  years they have struggled with such insurmountable grief, and they have not even had each other, despite both being physically present in the school. If they find peace, maybe – wherever they go after, they'll go together."

"That would be nice," Hermione breathed. "I want that for them. To simply be together, and for nothing else to matter."

"So do I," Draco murmured, but he was staring at her. "I can imagine that would be really enjoyable."

Hermione lost herself in his grey eyes as he looked down at her; she felt her heart speed up at the pressure of his hand on her back.

"Really enjoyable," she murmured, absently repeating his words, unable to tear her gaze from his.

Draco trailed a hand up her side, stepping closer to her in the empty corridor. His other hand traced her cheekbone, his fingers dancing lightly across her skin.

Hermione found her back to the stone wall, the warmth of his body radiating into her.

He pressed against her, leaning in to gently graze his teeth along the pulse point of her neck. His hands gripped her waist as he trailed kisses across her jaw and to her lips, kissing her as a soft caress, and Hermione melted into his touch. Suddenly he hesitated, drawing back slightly.

"Don't you think it's significant Helena and Waldo are together again?" he murmured, pressing his lips to hers again. Hermione nodded, feeling her heart swell at the thought.

"Absolutely," she whispered, breathing heavily. Her hands came to his chest, one tangling in the soft silk of his Slytherin tie as she drew him closer.

Their lips met again, more insistently, and Hermione dug her hands into his fine hair, losing her train of thought, while his hands moved along her sides, her hips, her chest. As if they had forgotten where they were, Hermione felt desire coursing through her veins, settling deep in her core. She reached for his collar, her hands fumbling with the knot of his tie when he wrenched away at the sound of voices the next corridor over.

He gazed at her, eyes dark with lust, even as he stepped away with a glance around them. The students had evidently carried on.

"That's one thing I miss about the past," he murmured, holding her gaze, "having somewhere to go with privacy."

"I know what you mean," Hermione said, swallowing heavily. "It's probably almost curfew anyway."

Draco didn't step away, his hands pressed to the wall on either side of her.

"I don't suppose you'd like to stay with me in the dungeons," he said, his voice low. "Just to sleep."

Her breath caught as she stared at him, and for a moment, Hermione allowed herself to indulge in the thought. To be held, secure in his arms, pressed against his warm body.

"Your roommates," she breathed.

"Just Blaise and Theo," he said with a shrug.

"I don't think we would sleep," Hermione whispered, even as she felt her face grow warm at the thought and the words she spoke.

"We would," he assured her, swiping a thumb across her cheekbone. He grinned lazily. "Eventually."

Hermione felt her insides heat at the way he spoke the word, the scintillating smile on his face. She didn't know that they  _would_  sleep. "While I appreciate the offer," she said quietly, "perhaps next time?"

"It's fine," Draco said with a softer smile. "I didn't expect you to agree. Would you like me to escort you to Gryffindor Tower?"

"You're already so near to the Slytherin dorms," she insisted and his smile faltered for a brief moment. "Unless you want to," she quickly corrected.

"It's okay," he said quietly, absently playing with the fabric of her lapel. "I know you're fine to get there on your own. Next time."

"Good night," Hermione said, leaning in to kiss him again, but the heat was gone from the encounter as he dropped a long, chaste kiss to her lips.

"Night," he murmured, and he smiled as he watched her, until Hermione rounded the corner leading out of the dungeons.

And as she lay in her cold bed in her achingly silent, lonely dorm, Hermione wished she had agreed to stay with him after all.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hey friends. I continue to be so incredibly humbled and appreciative of the support you all have shown this fic. And especially to the guests who I can't respond to directly. Your time is so valuable, and that you spend it on my stories is lovely. My current guess is that this fic will settle out around 25-26 chapters, though that could change slightly.
> 
> A million thanks to Kyonomiko for chipping me out of the mental block of ice I buried myself in while trying to write this chapter.
> 
> I truly hope you all enjoy this one xoxo
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

When Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast a few mornings later, running late as she had unintentionally slept in, something instinctively felt off.

Many students glanced at her as she walked past, their eyes wide, whispering with their friends.

Hermione adjusted her bag on her shoulder, attempting to shake off the feeling. She didn't dare look at Draco across the hall. Ginny stared at her as she slid into her usual seat, the redhead's expression stern.

"What is it?" Hermione asked casually as she filled her plate. Ginny merely clicked her tongue and tossed a copy of the  _Daily Prophet_  at her. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Hermione flipped through the paper to find what she was obviously meant to see.

It didn't take long to locate, and her breath caught at the photo of herself on the third page. It was a generic stock photo that had been used in many articles following the end of the war. She had hoped the  _Prophet_  had stopped being interested in her life. With a resigned sigh, she began to read the article.

_WAR HEROINE AND FORMER DEATH EATER?_

_The_ Daily Prophet  _has caught news that Hermione Granger, war heroine, best friend to Harry Potter, and recent recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, has taken up with none other than Draco Malfoy, acquitted former Death Eater and heir to the Malfoy fortune. According to an anonymous, close personal friend of the pair, the two have been seen studying, sneaking around, and engaging in overt displays of affection with one another._

_Has Granger been coerced or otherwise persuaded through unsavoury means? Has the youngest Malfoy perhaps convinced her he has changed? Has the heroine's coffers run low? Or is this perhaps all a trick designed to seek revenge on her former boyfriend, Ron Weasley?_

_One can only guess, given that a relationship of this nature could not have developed organically. At least, one would hope that Miss Granger has retained more of that well-known intelligence._

_Rita Skeeter_

Hermione felt flames rise to her cheeks and realized she was clenching the post so hard a corner of the paper had crumpled in her hand. She was aware of the multitude of eyes on her as she deliberately kept her gaze on the paper.

Then she turned to Ginny, forcing a tight smile. "What absolute rubbish," she said, loudly enough that the students in their close radius could all hear. "I'm not sure what offends me more: the insinuation that I'm a gold digger, that I'm still devastated over breaking up with Ron all those months ago, or that someone couldn't  _possibly_  change after having the very foundations of their beliefs absolutely  _demolished_."

She glanced toward the Slytherin table, where Draco appeared to be in deep conversation with Blaise, and was utterly ignoring the students around him, many of whom were glaring at him.

As if feeling her gaze on him, he looked up, eyes flashing as they met hers.

"Hermione," Ginny said, her eyes still wide and tentative, "you can't possibly mean this is true?"

"Which part?" she snapped, turning back to the redhead. "The part where I've been somehow blackmailed or  _Imperiused_ into a relationship? That I would be so petty as to use someone to get back at Ron over a mutual breakup? Or that I'm in a relationship with Draco Malfoy?"

She took a deep breath, forcing her temper to settle. Draco was still staring at her curiously from across the hall, as if waiting to see how she would react.

"The last part," Ginny breathed, looking horrified. Beside her, Neville shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Hermione exhaled through her nose, took several anxious bites of her toast and set down the crust.

She knew better than to rise to the taunt bloody  _Rita Skeeter_  had hurled her way. She took a sip of her juice and stood to leave, suddenly no longer hungry.

"What I choose to do, and with whom, is my business, until I choose to share it," she said, fully aware she was addressing more students than just Ginny and Neville. "And if that happens to include Draco Malfoy, then it is no one's place to suggest otherwise."

Ignoring Ginny's bewildered expression, Hermione slung her bag over a shoulder, and very intentionally made her way to the Slytherin table. Draco's brow furrowed in surprise as he saw her, and he took one last bite of his breakfast before jumping up from the bench and gathering his bag with a smirk at Blaise.

Hermione slipped her hand into Draco's as he came alongside her, painfully aware of the absolute silence that had encompassed the Great Hall. Her cheeks burned as he tugged her closer, dropping a kiss to her temple as he led her from the hall.

She could have sworn she spotted McGonagall smiling at her as they left.

"I hate public scenes," was the first thing she said to Draco once they were safely in the corridor.

"But you handle them so well," he teased. "Truthfully, I didn't know what to expect. It was a ridiculous article." He scoffed. "An  _anonymous_ , yet close personal friend? Please."

"You aren't mad?" she asked, glancing at him as they walked.

"I'm annoyed," he said, shrugging, "but I'm honestly beyond caring what those students think of me. The only opinions I care about are those who already know none of that rubbish is true." He looked carefully at the floor, scuffing the toe of his boot. "What  _does_  make me mad is this."

Draco shoved a letter into her hand and Hermione felt her heart sink. She uncoiled the parchment with apprehension.

_Draco_

_It has come to my attention that you have entered into a relationship with Hermione Granger. I am disappointed to learn such a thing from a third party source. The two of you will arrange for a meeting in Wiltshire at once._

_Regards,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

Hermione felt her hand trembling as she handed back the letter. As if reading her thoughts – it was probably obvious on her face – Draco frowned as he pocketed the letter.

"We won't go to Wiltshire," he said instantly. "I'll arrange for London – but only if you agree to it. She has no right to demand we meet with her."

"Does your mother always write you such formal letters?" Hermione asked, nodding as the sudden anxiety dissipated. She was nowhere near ready to go to Draco's family manor.

"Yes," he said simply. "Narcissa Malfoy does not understand the meaning of  _casual_."

"We can meet her," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. "It's fair enough of her to ask. Perhaps we can arrange a Floo connection with McGonagall for the weekend." She hesitated, thinking. "If the  _Prophet_  only just came out today, how did your mother already know?"

"I can only imagine Rita told her before the fact," Draco replied darkly. "Perhaps she was offered the chance to kill the story with a pile of Galleons."

"But yet she didn't?" Hermione asked, trying desperately to get a gauge on Narcissa Malfoy.

"She always has her reasons for why she does things," he said simply. "I appreciate your willingness to go along with it."

"Well," Hermione said nervously, chewing her lip, "I suppose I should get to know her regardless."

"Yes," Draco said, grinning as he slung an arm around her shoulders, "I suppose you should."

* * *

Hermione's all-encompassing nerves over the thought of meeting Narcissa Malfoy for tea that coming Saturday nearly overtook the irritation at the fact that much of the school was treating her as if she were some sort of a pariah.

She would see students anxiously drop their conversations mid-sentence as she approached and she had become accustomed to the glares – though she wasn't necessarily certain some of them weren't because she had somehow snagged Draco Malfoy.

She had received several Howlers, and at Draco's instruction, had managed to subdue them until she could take them into a  _Silencio_ 'd room. He knew, because he had received three times as many.

And while Draco didn't complain about the cold glares he had been receiving, Hermione could tell it was wearing on him. Hermione had tried explaining to Ginny and Neville that Draco really had changed and proven himself to be a wonderful boyfriend, but she suspected her words were falling on deaf ears.

The majority of the student body simply wasn't ready to believe that Draco Malfoy wasn't a terrible person.

Several students had even approached Hermione, as if she were suffering delusions, to remind her that Draco was awfully prejudiced and likely had an ulterior motive.

By the time Saturday arrived, Narcissa Malfoy seemed like the lesser of two evils.

Draco had given Hermione a brief series of etiquette lessons – anything she might possibly need to know in order to sit for tea with his mother and walk away unscathed. Hermione was certain she had forgotten most of it.

While Narcissa's opinion mattered to Hermione, because it mattered to Draco, she had decided if the woman would be willing to outcast her because she used the wrong spoon, then so be it.

Hermione met Draco before they were scheduled to depart, having arranged a Floo connection with McGonagall to the Leaky Cauldron, from where they would Apparate to the posh tea house Narcissa had selected.

"Are you set to go?" Draco asked, offering her a tight smile.

"Nearly," Hermione said uneasily. He smirked, taking her hand to walk the distance to McGonagall's office. "Wait," she murmured. "You told your mother we were returning to Hogwarts this evening, right?"

"Yes," he responded. "She tried to insist we stay for dinner as well, but I told her we had to return."

Hermione glanced away, stubbornly avoiding his gaze. "I may have told McGonagall we were staying at the Manor overnight. She arranged the return connection for tomorrow afternoon."

"So then –" Draco began, his brow knitted in confusion.

"I thought," Hermione went on, forcing herself to look at him, "it might be nice to get away from Hogwarts for the night, with the way things have been. To have some privacy." She chewed her lip when he didn't outwardly react. "I booked us a hotel room in London."

"You didn't," he breathed, then his lips twisted into a smile. He turned to face her, grasping her arms. "You are the best."

"I know," she whispered, smiling teasingly. "Let's go. Can't keep your mother waiting."

* * *

Hermione suddenly wished she was back at Hogwarts, being ridiculed for her taste in men, when she saw Narcissa already seated at a small, rectangular table in the tea shop. She had dressed in a nice skirt and jumper, but seeing Narcissa in her elegant, pale blue robes made her fidget. The woman looked so well put together that Hermione nearly flinched and turned back around.

As if sensing her discomfort, Draco's hand came to her back, gently nudging her forward.

Narcissa rose to her feet as they approached, offering her hand to Hermione who shook her fingers, feeling awkward.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa said, offering a tight smile. "And Draco. It is, of course, lovely to see you both."

Draco drew her chair away from the table and Hermione carefully took her seat, trying to remember the etiquette he had taught her and forgetting it. It wasn't as if she had grown up a barbarian – she simply knew pureblood manners were extreme and tended to be old-fashioned.

"Mrs Malfoy," Hermione said in her most demure tone, "likewise, of course."

"Please, dear, call me Narcissa," the woman requested, still smiling without teeth. Draco took his seat beside Hermione, and she couldn't help feeling like this was an interrogation.

A server suddenly appeared, pouring Hermione a cup of tea. "How do you take your tea?" the man asked with a practiced smile.

"Honey, please," Hermione requested, wondering if there was a proper way to take this type of tea.

"Milk, please," Draco intoned as the server moved on to him. He stirred his tea silently, as he had showed her, and Hermione was careful to keep her spoon from clinking against the cup. Draco nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa began, tilting her head thoughtfully, as if observing the two of them together.

"Please, Hermione is fine," she said, eyes widening as she considered if that counted as interrupting the woman.

"Very well, Hermione," Narcissa said. "I have heard, of course, that you and Draco are in a courting relationship. We ought to learn more about one another, wouldn't you agree? Particularly if you are going to be joining the family." Narcissa took a sip of her tea.

Hermione nearly choked on her tea, and Draco's leg pressed gently against hers.

"Of course, I certainly agree," she said softly as she set the cup down.

"I have heard, certainly, of your brilliance," Narcissa said, glancing at Draco with a secretive smile, "but I did not know of your beauty. I regret that we did not meet under such pleasant circumstances the last time."

The last time being the time the woman's sister had tortured Hermione on the floor of her drawing room.

"Thank you," Hermione said with a tilt of her head. "Unfortunately, the last time we met I had been living in a tent and subsisting on wild mushrooms for many months. It does little for the complexion or the hair."

Narcissa blinked. Draco hid a poorly concealed snort.

"Of course, dear," Narcissa said, delicately re-folding her napkin. Then she looked up, her piercing blue eyes meeting Hermione's. "And I certainly regret, of course, the circumstances that brought you to our manor last year. Though it will likely mean very little, I apologize for the actions of my sister. I cannot say enough how I wish the events of that day had never occurred."

Hermione swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. Perhaps she had been unfair with her assessments of the woman.

"I appreciate that, very much," Hermione said, her brow knitted. Narcissa was still folding the napkin, and it occurred to Hermione that the woman was fidgeting, as if not entirely able to maintain her practiced composure. In a softer voice she said, "I realize your family did not have a say in the things that went on then."

Hermione felt Draco's hand land on her knee and give a squeeze.

"Thank you, dear," Narcissa said, dabbing the corner of one eye with the napkin, "although there is simply no excuse for the terrors that befell you in my house. I would hope that you might one day choose to visit the Manor again, under better circumstances. Please know, that room has been completely renovated and will be unrecognizable."

"Thank you, Narcissa," Hermione said, feeling a jolt in her chest. She suddenly missed her own mother very much. "I think I would like that."

"Wonderful," Narcissa said, her demure smile back in place. She settled the napkin into her lap once more. "Now, I would very much like to learn more about the witch who has so thoroughly captured my son's attention."

* * *

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Draco asked, later that afternoon in the hotel room. Draco had insisted on upgrading them to the finest suite the hotel had to offer, and refused to let Hermione pay. Thankfully she had booked a wizarding hotel, though the thought of Draco trying to pay for a Muggle room with Galleons made her laugh.

"No," Hermione agreed, "it wasn't terrible. I was expecting your mother to be more… cold."

"She may be stiff and formal," Draco said, "but no one could ever accuse her of not loving her family. She knows if I care about you, she has no option but to do the same."

"I see that," Hermione said, smiling. She dropped to the bed, laying on her stomach, turning her head to face Draco as he joined her.

"Thank you for coming to London with me," he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to her lips. "And for staying the night with me."

Hermione entangled a hand in his hair. "I thought you could use a break from Hogwarts."

"Definitely," he said, sliding a hand beneath her jumper to play about the skin there. He kissed her again. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted, even as she deepened the kiss. "Do wizarding hotels have room service?"

"Absolutely," he murmured against her lips.

* * *

Several hours later, they lay on the covers of the bed, stuffed from the variety of gourmet foods and desserts Draco had insisted they order, the brightness of the moon streaming in through the window the only light.

"You have to try this," Draco said, turning to her with a forkful of trifle. Despite her overfull stomach, Hermione accepted the bite, her eyes falling shut as she savoured the taste.

"So good," she breathed, as he gave up and removed the rest of the food from the bed. She smiled as he settled beside her once more. "This is really nice."

"It is," he said quietly, meeting her eyes. "I think if one more person approached me to tell me how rotten I am this week, I might have lost it." He ran a hand through his hair then smiled. "It is incredibly nice to have some time alone with you."

Hermione settled herself on his chest as his arm came around her, entwining their legs. "I agree," she murmured, comforted by his familiar scent. "But I'm sorry you've had to deal with that."

"I'm not," he said seriously, his grey eyes penetrating hers. "I wouldn't take back a single minute of what we've been through, of everything that has led us here."

"Neither would I," Hermione admitted, enraptured in his gaze. "I still can't quite believe it, but I'm so happy."

Draco's brow furrowed as he stared at her for a long moment. Then he hugged her closer, kissing her temple. "I didn't think I could feel this way. About someone. About my life," he murmured.

Hermione's breath hitched at the significance in his words. She heard her own whispered words before she realized she was saying them.

"I love you." Her eyes widened at her admission as he stared at her, his lips parted. "I mean, I certainly don't expect –"

"Hermione," Draco cut her off. A faint smile danced across his lips. "I am  _so_  in love with you."

She played the words through her mind, feeling her heart swell with the realization. She stared at him, her blood roaring in her ears, before she realized a tear had slipped from her eye. She hastily swiped it away, held his face, and kissed him.

Draco kissed her back, drawing her impossibly close, as his hands played with the thick fabric of her jumper. Hermione tugged at it, and he dragged it over her head, leaving her in her sleeveless top.

Hermione distractedly slid the knot of his tie loose, and he ducked his head obligingly so she could remove it entirely. She fidgeted with the lapels of his Oxford.

"I sort of thought," Hermione breathed, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt, "that while we were here we might…" she trailed off, chewing her lower lip nervously as she met his gaze.

Draco simply stared blankly, his breathing quick and his eyes dark. Finally he said, "What?"

Boldly, Hermione reached down and loosened the tails of his shirt from his trousers. She realized her hands were trembling slightly.

"Hermione," Draco whispered, gaze intent on her, "are you sure?"

"Yes," she murmured, eyes wide. "Only if you want to."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course, I want to…" he paused, "but only if you're ready. Just because we're staying here… I didn't expect anything, you know?"

"I know," Hermione said with a soft smile. "And I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't believe I was ready." He continued to stare, as if not quite believing her, his hands frozen on her waist and thigh. Hermione tilted her head. "Draco, I've seen more to you this year than I ever expected to, and I've grown to truly care for you… I know without a doubt that I'm ready. And – " she bit her lip, "I really want to."

"Okay," Draco murmured. His smirk spread into a smile and he kissed her deeply, moving her so she was beneath him. "You can't imagine how badly I want it, too."

"I have an idea," she huffed as his hands came to the hem of her top, lifting it carefully over her head. He froze, a breath catching in his throat.

"Green," he choked, taking in the lace of her bra. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips.

"Right," Hermione said, unable to hold his gaze. "You know, because I wanted to look…"

"Like mine," he finished in a breath, his eyes flashing. He slipped the remaining buttons of his shirt and shrugged it off, all the while staring at her, grey eyes seductive and full of heat. "Hermione, you are never going to be  _anyone's_  but mine."

"Good," she breathed, pulling him back down and he kissed her with a passion and a longing that lit Hermione's soul on fire, her skin blazing where his hands touched, her hands dragging along the lean muscles of his back.

In a swift movement, Draco released the clasp of her bra and threw it to the floor; he exhaled a heavy breath as he stared at her for a long moment before trailing kisses down her neck and to her chest, kneading one of her breasts while his lips and tongue found the other.

Hermione gasped and arched into him, delirious at the sheer awareness of him, all-encompassing as a haziness settled in her brain.

Her eyes slid shut and Hermione could focus on nothing other than the heat from his breath against her skin, the assuredness of his hands, gentle but firm.

And she had meant what she'd said – she  _wanted_  this, and everything it entailed. A  _life_ with Draco.

His lips found hers again, the skin of his chest flush with hers, and his hands landed at the waist of her skirt. Hermione nodded, not breaking the kiss, shifting as he removed her skirt and knickers in one movement.

It never occurred to Hermione that she might possibly be self-conscious, fully bared as she was – not with the way he gazed at her as if she was all that mattered. Her heart slammed against her chest, pulsing a wild cadence that spoke of  _everything_  between them, of the depth of emotion within his eyes.

Hermione  _knew_  she had never felt this way before. And she never wanted it with anyone else.

Meeting his gaze and summoning her bravery, Hermione palmed his hard length through his trousers, smiling at the way he shuddered and his eyes fell shut, his forehead dropping to rest against hers.

His fingers found her core, working her into a rhythm, and building a momentum that settled upon Hermione and in her mind, feeling  _so_  right.

Draco breathed her name, the syllables heavy with reverence; Hermione kissed him, tugging at his slacks, and he slipped them off, tossing them to the floor.

Hermione bit her lip on a smile, taking in his nude form and he gave her a playful smirk, his grey eyes burning with lust and something else as he climbed atop her again.

He grinned, and his face lit up as he stared at her. "You're sure," he murmured.

"Absolutely," she whispered, teasing a hand through his disheveled blond hair, making him look wild and carefree.

She gasped his name as he entered her, awash with the sensation of oneness she couldn't even attempt to comprehend. And Hermione thought she might burst as he began to move, cursing soft oaths into her neck, his hands gentle as they tracked across her skin.

Her hands dug into his hair and his mouth found hers, ghosting kisses across her lips as pure, unhindered awareness of him raced through her senses as a caress.

With each thrust, each graze of his tongue, each breath, hot against her skin, Hermione found herself spinning into delirium, cresting that wave, giving in to the feel of him.

And when she reached that peak, stumbling over his name as a rush of pleasure flooded through her, Hermione clung to him as, with a few more thrusts, he followed her over the edge.

Draco collapsed on top of her, his eyes shut and breathing heavy. After a long moment one eye cracked open, and then the other and he pressed his lips to hers, pulling back far enough to meet her gaze and smile.

Then he carefully withdrew himself, rummaging for his wand and casting a  _Scourgify_ on them both and the sheets.

He stared at her for a long moment, his grey eyes sparkling.

"You're wonderful," he breathed, "and you continue to surprise me."

"You're incredible," Hermione returned, caught in his gaze, remembering how his eyes had looked in the throes of pleasure.

Draco's arms came around her and she sunk into his comforting warmth, basking in the feel of his bare skin against hers. He pulled her closer, her back to his chest.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear and Hermione couldn't keep the smile from her face even as she felt the heavy tug at her eyelids.

"I love  _you_ ," she murmured, pressing her toes against his.

He dropped a kiss to her temple before settling in behind her, his arms coming around her, and Hermione could fight the peaceful pull of sleep no more.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello! Welcome to chapter 23. I still can't believe we're this far on, and only a handful of chapters to go! Thanks as always for all the wonderful support.
> 
> I'm so thrilled and humbled to say that Chronos Historia has been nominated for Most Creative Plot over on the Granger Enchanted Awards. As well, Proximate was nominated for Best Healer!Hermione, and I was nominated for Legacy (10+ year) Writer. No matter what happens in the awards, it's an honour to be nominated and I have some of the loveliest readers out there!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Hermione smiled as she looked up to see Draco walking towards her after classes one day the following week. She felt herself flush, as she had every time she had seen him since their overnight trip to London. He smirked, and she realized he was clutching a book.

"I asked my mother to owl me this when we met with her in London," he murmured by way of greeting. "But I didn't tell her why. That's your decision to make."

He handed her the ancient tome and Hermione carefully flipped through the first few pages, eyes widening at the arcane spells depicted. Draco turned to a specific page, pointing to a demonstration of what appeared to be a complex spell.

"This is the spell that will determine the exact lineage of your necklace," he murmured. "It's actually less complicated than it looks. We will just need to obtain the ingredients, which I happened to borrow from Slughorn today."

"Excellent," Hermione breathed. "Shall we try it?"

"If you want to," he replied seriously. "Like I said before, it doesn't have to change anything – but it might change the way you feel."

"I suppose I would rather know with certainty," she admitted.

"Good," he murmured, "then we will do it tonight."

An hour later, Hermione stared down at a table in an empty classroom they had commandeered for the task. The ingredients spread on the surface around her necklace reminded Hermione more of some demonic summoning ritual than an heirloom lineage test, but the book the spell had come from looked older than anything she had seen when they had gone back in time, so she hadn't questioned it.

"It's ready," Draco murmured, his eyes scanning the page once more. "All you have to do is read the incantation and the ingredients should do the rest."

Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath as she walked toward the table. A long scroll of parchment was laid out before her.

She cleared her throat and read the incantation from the book. Nothing happened. She cast a glance to Draco but his gaze was fixed on the necklace. He nodded reassuringly.

Suddenly the necklace began to glow, and words populated on the parchment in an old, loopy script.

Hermione didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she read her name at the top of the page, closest to the necklace. Then her mother's name and maiden name, linked with her father's. Then her maternal grandmother's, alongside her grandfather's.

Draco stepped nearer, reading the names of her ancestors with wide eyes as the list carried on and on.

"This is unbelievable," Hermione breathed, as the generations spelled themselves out.

"It has a long way back to go," Draco murmured, his shoulder pressing against hers and Hermione leaned against him.

As the minutes went by Hermione felt her vision blurring at the small, tight script, and something more sentimental as well.

"Do you know your lineage like this?" Hermione asked, glancing to Draco.

"Yes," he nodded. "To the eighth century or so. In England since the eleventh."

Hermione merely shook her head and fell silent. The process was overwhelming.

Draco squinted at the list several minutes later and Hermione followed his gaze.

_Eva (Black) Cromwell – Alric Cromwell_

_Edith (Selwyn) Black – Hadrian Black_

_Audrey (Burke) Selwyn – Tybalt Selwyn_

_Helena Ravenclaw – Waldo Baron_

_Rowena Ravenclaw – Ascot Fletcher_

Hermione let out a sharp intake of breath. Her brow furrowed as she turned to Draco.

"Helena was so sure…" she began, "but seeing it here. It seems so  _real_."

"I know," Draco murmured, tracing his fingertips over the cursive. "Selwyn, Black… looks like you've got some Sacred Twenty-Eight in you, Granger." He was smirking.

"You really  _are_  all inter-related, aren't you?" she teased.

"Absolutely," he said without humour. He pointed to the list. "If Eva Black hadn't been a Squib and married a Muggle, I can almost guarantee you'd have had some Malfoy in here somewhere down the line. As it is, I'm House of Black as well so that makes us  _incredibly_  distant relatives." He grinned. "How does that make you feel?"

"Only slightly mortified," Hermione said, nudging him in the side.

"You know," Draco said softly, tracing Rowena Ravenclaw's name, then the name of Ascot Fletcher. Hermione recognized the paternal name there as the Muggle Helena had told her about in their first Charms class together. It felt so long ago, now. "I can't lie – with all of the surprises lately, I wouldn't have been shocked if this name was different."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowing as they fell on him.

"Well," he shrugged. "If Rowena had perhaps been dishonest about Helena's paternity, for whichever of her reasons she did things. If this name was  _Godric Gryffindor_  or  _Salazar Slytherin_." He smirked again, shaking his head. "I confess I'm almost a little disappointed."

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "One Hogwarts founder for an ancestor is enough." Then she laughed as Draco wrapped an arm around her shoulders, grinning. "Can you imagine?"

"Actually, I can," he murmured. "You're so far from ordinary." He tilted his head, deep in thought. "I can't help but to think – what if Edith's daughter, Eva, hadn't been a Squib? How different would things have been if your line was magical rather than Muggle?"

"You think we might have been friends?" she asked softly.

"No clue," he replied. "Depends if you were still in Gryffindor or if you ended up in Ravenclaw."

Hermione laughed, leaning in to him. "Somehow I doubt we would have been friends either way."

"Honestly, I don't," he said. "You and I have a lot in common. It was  _blood_  that kept us apart. If you were pureblooded, we probably would have known one another since birth. Obviously, it doesn't change anything, but it is interesting to think about."

"It is," she mused absently as she clasped the necklace back around her neck. "Very interesting." Hermione turned to Draco, frowning. "Will you help me tell Harry and Ron? About everything?"

"Yes," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple, "I'll do my best."

"I appreciate that," she smiled, pulling him closer. "And thank you – for helping me know for sure."

"I would have wanted to know the same," he said with a shrug. "It's old magic, but it's still reliable. And now you know."

"Can I borrow your owl?" she asked softly, moving to draw a quill and parchment from her bag. Draco nodded, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head on her shoulder. She quickly drafted a missive.

_Harry and Ron_

_I would appreciate if you would be willing to arrange a visit to Hogsmeade at your convenience. I would like to share with you what has truly happened this year._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

* * *

Through whatever means they managed to convince McGonagall, Harry and Ron arrived at Hogwarts that Friday evening. Hermione hugged them both, though Harry looked rather sheepish as he embraced her.

Then Harry turned to Draco, scratching his head as he extended a hand. Draco's brows rose into his hair but he accepted the proffered hand, shaking it firmly. Then he shook Ron's as well, and Hermione held back a smile at the sight.

Thankfully, the Great Hall was quiet following the end of the evening meal so the four of them took a seat at the Gryffindor table, Draco looking tremendously out of place as he settled into a spot beside Hermione. A pitcher of pumpkin juice and four goblets appeared.

Harry placed his hands on the table, absently tracing something that had been scratched into the table.

"Before we start," he began, "I would like to say I'm sorry for the way I acted in Hogsmeade. Malfoy, obviously you and I have never got on, but Hermione's been my best friend for a long time, and I should have trusted her."

Draco shrugged, looking surprised but accepting the sentiment. Hermione beamed at them both.

"So what's this story?" Ron asked, looking anxious.

"Well, I'll start by saying that we recently spent five months in a different century, and that's how we came to know one another better," Hermione prefaced, smiling at the stunned faces of her two friends. Beside her, Draco smirked. "And believe me, when it first happened, we didn't get along at all."

Harry adjusted his glasses, his green eyes widening. "Did you said  _century_?"

"A different millenium, if you're being technical," Draco murmured and both Harry and Ron looked to him.

"Right," Hermione agreed. She looked to her two friends. "This is going to sound crazy, but please believe that we aren't making this up." Harry and Ron glanced at each other nervously. "On January 15th, Draco and I came across a portal which transported us to September the first, in the year 999."

"What?" Ron exclaimed.

"A portal?" Harry asked, looking skeptical. "For time travel? Hermione, didn't you have enough trouble with time travel in third year?"

"We didn't realize it was a portal at first," Hermione said quickly. "Or we definitely wouldn't have gone near it. It was just a door in an old passageway off the courtyard we had never seen before."

"So you just decided to open it," Harry said, a brow raised.

"Gryffindor," she said with a shrug. She shared a small smile with Draco.

"The year 999?" Ron asked, deep in thought. "Was Hogwarts even open then?"

"Hogwarts was founded in the year 993, Ron, honestly," Hermione shook her head. "Didn't you ever read  _Hogwarts: A History_?"

"Why should I have?" Ron grumbled, "you had it memorized."

Beside her, Draco snickered.

"So wait," Harry said, his eyes growing wider still with realization. "Are you telling us you met the Hogwarts founders?"

"We didn't just meet them," Hermione said, smiling. "They taught us. We were there for four and a half months and we integrated into life there, the classes and traditions, everything."

"Hermione was sorted into Ravenclaw," Draco cut in, surprising Hermione by pouring four glasses of pumpkin juice and distributing them.

"With the Sorting Hat?" Harry asked, transfixed even as he took a sip of his juice, nodding his thanks to Draco. "Or how?"

"They asked us a series of questions that seemed irrelevant," Hermione said, thinking back to recall. "Like how we take our tea or prefer our eggs."

"What were the founders like?" Ron asked, mouth hanging half-open.

"Like you'd expect," Hermione said, hesitating, "only, not. Hufflepuff taught us Magizoology and her class was really interesting. Ravenclaw was absolutely brilliant, of course, and creative, and Gryffindor was firm but always helpful and friendly. Slytherin was a bit creepy, but also really committed to his students. He was prepared to help Draco with his potions mastery."

"Really?" Harry asked, his brows high. He glanced at Malfoy. "That's actually pretty impressive, mate."

Draco returned with something between a smirk and a grin and slung an arm over Hermione's shoulders. Hermione sunk into him, pleased he was interacting with her friends, even despite how their last meeting had gone.

"So wait," Harry said, "did they realize you were from a different time? And how did you end up there? How did you get  _back_?"

"It's a long story," Hermione said, chewing her lip. "They didn't know at first, but I guess we seemed different. By the time we left, they had figured it out. But it was Ravenclaw who built the portal, and we ended up finding her research in the Room of Requirement, only it was sort of her private office at the time."

"And her research was runic  _and_  coded," Draco cut in with a scoff. "It took a long time just to learn the code, and then when we finally figured it out, Ravenclaw caught us and translated it with a wave of her wand."

"He means when  _he_  figured out the code," Hermione said, smiling proudly at Draco.

" _You_  figured it out before Hermione did?" Ron asked, blue eyes fixed on the blond. Hermione gave him a shrug.

"To be fair," Draco admitted, "Hermione was very diligent with her homework, while I spent a lot more time trying to decode the research."

"It was quite brilliant," Hermione said, giggling, "look –  _Draco Malfoy_ is being humble. I don't know that I would have made the leap you did to figure it out."

Harry met her gaze, a private smile on his lips as he looked between her and Draco. Hermione caught the significance in the look and smiled in return.

"So at some point through everything," Harry said slowly, gesturing between the two of them, " _this_  happened."

Draco looked at Hermione, his expression softening. "Yes."

Hermione gave his knee a squeeze.

"It gets more interesting," Hermione went on, "because we each, almost unwittingly, befriended one of our very own Hogwarts ghosts." She saw the understanding dawn on Harry's face.

"The Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron," Harry murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "What was that like?"

"Weird, at first," Hermione said, glancing at Draco again. "And completely strange being back here, seeing them as ghosts again. Draco and the Bloody Baron – his name was  _Waldo_  Baron, by the way – became friends. And Helena Ravenclaw and I were… very close."

Hermione chewed her lip for a moment, suddenly drawn back into those memories. "Here." She drew the two photos from the Solstice Ball out of her bag, settling them on the table. One of Hermione, Draco and Helena; the other of Draco and Waldo.

"Unbelievable," Harry breathed, lifting the photographs closer to his face. "Are you at a  _ball_?"

Draco nodded. "They celebrated the changing of the seasons. A feast for the autumnal equinox, and a Solstice Ball for the winter solstice."

"To celebrate the old magic," Ron said, nodding. Hermione gave him an incredulous look. "What?" he asked, rubbing his face. "I'm Sacred Twenty-Eight too, you know."

Draco's brows flickered but he nodded.

"Okay, so Ravenclaw built this portal and sent you home?" Harry asked, scratching his hair. "Why bring you there in the first place?"

"We haven't figured that out yet," Hermione said nervously. "In the past, Rowena didn't even know what happened that made her bring us to her time. But of course, whenever that occurred, she already had the portal built from when we were there – before."

"Bloody confusing," Ron said, staring blankly at her.

"It  _was_  confusing just being there," Hermione agreed, "not knowing whether we could tell anyone, or what it might affect. But as it turns out, Ravenclaw's portal was able to support time travel without affecting the future."

"That's really quite brilliant," Harry said, and Hermione knew he was recalling his own experiences with the time turner in their third year. "So tell us more about the ghosts. Was the Bloody Baron really obsessed with Helena Ravenclaw?"

"As it turns out," Draco explained, "the story Helena Ravenclaw told you about her mother's diadem was a lie. Waldo  _didn't_  kill her at all, and we only learned the true story when we came back home. They were actually secretly together, because Helena was half-blood and Waldo's father was an  _extreme_  blood purist – he would have made  _my_  father look harmless." Draco grimaced, glancing at Hermione.

"Together?" Harry asked. "But then what happened with the diadem? How did it end up in Albania?"

Hermione frowned, not wanting to recount this part of the story. "Helena was pregnant."

Harry and Ron gaped at her. Hermione chewed her bottom lip, and as if sensing her hesitation, Draco continued.

"Helena and Waldo had to leave, to try and escape Waldo's father. Waldo was betrothed to another girl, see, and his father didn't know about Helena," Draco explained. "Rowena Ravenclaw  _gave_  them the diadem, in the hopes it would help them outsmart Waldo's father. But the man was too adept at tracking them and shortly after the baby was born, he found them – in Albania."

Hermione watched as Harry paled significantly; she knew he could tell what was coming. And Harry knew all too well what it was like to grow up without parents.

"Waldo's father," Draco said, his hand around Hermione giving her arm a squeeze, "murdered Helena." Harry and Ron both cringed. "Waldo, furious and heartbroken, left the baby with a relative and went after his father." Draco swallowed heavily. "Neither survived."

"So that's why the Bloody Baron is mad?" Ron asked, shaking his head. "Think that would drive me mad, too."

"They've both been in the castle for a thousand years," Hermione breathed, "but unable to be together. Helena told you the story, Harry, because they agreed upon it to keep the baby safe from Waldo's other relatives. They gave her the name of Burke – Audrey Burke."

"Burke?" Harry asked, perking up. "As in Borgin and Burke's?"

"The same," Draco interjected, "but while the name is notorious for dark side involvement now, a thousand years ago, it was just another long-standing wizarding family."

"Makes sense," Harry said with a shrug. "So Ravenclaw's line carried on after all." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Here's what I don't get. You said you went back in time on January 15th? Why?"

"We returned on January 15th as well," Hermione contributed. "Do you think it's significant in some way?"

"I have no idea," Harry said, "I'm baffled by this whole story. But it seems awfully arbitrary."

"She was quite specific we return on that day," Hermione said, shrugging. "We haven't figured that all out."

"It could very well have been significant," Draco cut in. "Ravenclaw wasn't the arbitrary type. If it had meaning, we haven't figured that out yet." He glanced at Hermione, his grey eyes settling on her. "We seem to keep learning more and more, despite having returned to our time."

Hermione looked to Harry and Ron, fidgeting with her necklace. Draco was allowing her to make the choice whether or not to tell them.

"Right," she said, mustering her bravery. "As it turns out, Helena and Waldo's daughter, Audrey, had a daughter named Edith. Helena watched them both when they came to Hogwarts – but Edith's daughter was a Squib; her name was Eva Black. So essentially, Ravenclaw's line did fall out of existence. Magically, at least."

She let out a long breath, smiling tentatively at Draco. He nodded, giving her a half-smile, even as Hermione hesitated.

Draco, sensing her nerves, continued, folding his arms and leaning in, looking at Harry and Ron. "What do you know about how Muggle-borns occur?"

"Not much," Harry said, looking deep in thought. "Isn't it just a genetic anomaly that happens –"

"They come from a Muggle line that has a Squib somewhere down the road, don't they?" Ron asked. Then his eyes widened as he looked between Draco and Hermione. "Blimey!"

"What?" Harry asked, looking bewildered. "From a Squib? So wait – Edith's Squib daughter –" his gaze flew frantically to land on Hermione's.

Draco smirked, nudging Hermione in the shoulder.

"Hermione?" Harry exclaimed. " _You_?"

"Hermione," Draco asserted. Hermione stared, still having barely processed the truth herself. "Is very distantly descended from Rowena Ravenclaw."

"But how do you know?" Ron asked, loudly.

"When Helena showed us her memories, she gave Audrey a necklace," Hermione explained, holding up the pendant at her own throat. "It was this one."

"If you look closely," Draco said quietly, tapping the photograph from the Solstice Ball, "you can see they are wearing the same necklace. Apparently when you dress two pretty girls up they forget to be observant."

Hermione glared at him even as she picked up the photo to take a closer look. But Draco grinned teasingly, poking her in the arm.

"I only noticed yesterday," he murmured. "With the way Helena's dress sits at the neckline, it's hard to tell."

"But how are you sure it's the same necklace?" Ron asked, peering at the photos. "It's not as if you can do a blood test on a ghost, right?"

"We did a test," Draco said simply. "To reveal the lineage of an heirloom. It went to Rowena Ravenclaw and beyond."

"That's bloody insane, mate," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "But that's got to be connected then, right? If you're some descendant from a thousand years later, it has to be related to why Ravenclaw took you into the past?"

"Probably," Hermione said, glancing at Draco. "But even then, why? We still had to figure it out on our own, after we left. If it was so significant, wouldn't Ravenclaw have mentioned something?"

"And if she didn't know at the time," Draco cut in, "what changed?"

"Everything," Hermione breathed. "Helena had a baby – Helena  _died_."

"But we  _specifically_  couldn't do anything to change the future, remember?" Draco said. "If Ravenclaw wanted us to fix it, why would she have prevented that very thing?"

"Beats me," Harry said, shaking his head.

Ron opened his mouth to speak but he slammed it shut, his eyes narrowing slightly. Hermione jumped, having been distracted in her thoughts, when Nott suddenly took a seat on the bench beside her, straddling it.

" _What_  is going on here?" he asked, helping himself to Hermione's pumpkin juice. Behind him, Zabini stood, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

"Nott, Zabini," Harry said stiffly, and Hermione smiled at the obvious effort. Harry looked at her and rolled his eyes but a hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

"Don't tell me these two are telling you some bullshite story about being taken to the past," Nott said dismissively.

Zabini snickered and sat down on Draco's other side. "You two still trying to get people to believe that ridiculous story?" Zabini looked at Harry and Ron, extending an olive branch. "Whatever they've told you, it's all lies."

Harry actually laughed, and grinned at the two Slytherins. "I thought it sounded fake." Ron laughed as well, shaking his head as he drank from his pumpkin juice.

Draco simply shook his head, his brow furrowed. He lifted his hands, as if exasperated. Zabini jostled him for a moment, grinning, and stole Draco's pumpkin juice.

"Can you not get your own?" Draco asked, frowning.

"We can't, actually," Nott said, his tone serious. "We heard you were sitting here with a bunch of Gryffindors and didn't believe it."

"You two don't believe anything, do you?" Hermione asked softly but she smiled. It seemed Draco's friends, strange as they were, had already grown on her.

"No, we don't," Blaise said shortly, standing from the table. "Later, Gryffindors."

Theo jumped up and followed Blaise from the hall, taking Hermione's juice with him. Draco opened his mouth to speak but then clenched his jaw shut, exhaling through his nose.

Hermione snickered, pinching his side. He caught her hand and entwined their fingers, shaking his head tiredly at his friends.

"That was interesting," Ron said with a smirk.

"They're a pair of shiteheads," Draco said. Everyone chuckled.

"I could get used to them," Ron said, shrugging. "They remind me of Fred and George, to be honest."

Hermione flinched, startled to hear Ron mention his brothers so casually. She met his eyes and he gave her a sad smile.

"Has training been getting any easier?" Hermione asked softly, pleased to see Draco turning to Harry and Ron, attentive.

"Yes," Ron nodded, drinking from his juice. Hermione wished Theo hadn't stolen hers. "Where we lack formal education, we typically make up for in practical experience."

"It's true," Harry interjected, "you'd be surprised how many people enter Auror training without the slightest clue how to produce a corporeal Patronus." Hermione gave Draco's hand a squeeze under the table, remembering the first time he produced his dragon. "And some of the sloppiest disarming spells I've ever seen."

"Good thing you've got plenty of experience teaching people those," Hermione teased.

"Definitely," Harry said, grinning. Then he faced Draco, the smile falling from his face. "I apologize, for my behaviour the last time we met. Towards both of you." His gaze briefly flickered to Hermione. "Seeing you and Hermione together, I understand now. I shouldn't have been so quick to judge based on the past."

"I appreciate that, Potter," Draco said honestly, his brow furrowed. "It has been… challenging to move on from the actions of my family. Hermione gave me a second chance when few were willing."

Hermione beamed at him, her heart swelling.

The four of them made idle chatter for a while longer before Harry and Ron declared they had to leave, or McGonagall would be closing her Floo, leaving them unable to make it back in time for morning training.

Hermione turned to Draco after everyone had said good-bye and Harry and Ron had departed.

"That went better than I expected," she said, meeting his gaze. "I'm proud of you."

"I'm proud of you as well," he murmured, smirking. He tugged her closer, embracing her tightly

"I've been thinking," Hermione said, muffled slightly against the fabric of his shirt and he released her. "My dorm was built separately from the rest of the girls' dorms in Gryffindor Tower." She met his stare. "And I don't know whether it was spelled with the same male-repellent charms."

"That's probably something worth investigating," Draco said seriously, pressing his lips to hers.

"Probably," Hermione agreed, reaching her arms around his back. "Especially since I have no roommates."

" _Definitely_  worth investigating," he corrected as he practically pulled Hermione the distance to Gryffindor Tower. He bit his lip on a grin as he turned to her, murmuring, "you can show me how proud of me you are."

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled. "And likewise."


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hey friends. Thanks as always for all the wonderful love and support on this fic. I can't express how much it's meant to me, whether you've been along since the start or just joining in. We're nearing the home stretch now and it's making me sentimental. :) I hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Hermione and Draco lounged in Hermione's dorm the following day, picking at finger foods Draco had smuggled from the kitchens. While Hermione initially frowned at the thought of breaking school rules, the temptation to stay closed up with Draco proved too great.

"You know, something Potter and Weasley said last night has been on my mind," Draco said, absently trailing a finger down her spine.

"Really," Hermione murmured, basking in his ministrations, arching into his touch. "And what's that?"

"That Ravenclaw bringing us into the past  _must_  have had something to do with you being her distant heir," he said, staring absently at the pillow beside her head and plucking up a loose feather. "But what? And how?"

"Maybe she figured out about my heritage somehow," Hermione said with a shrug, turning to face him. "She… I don't know, she saw the necklace or something."

"Then why wouldn't she have mentioned it?" he asked, looking confused as he fidgeted with one of her curls.

"I don't know," Hermione said slowly. She shook her head as she considered the thought. "Even then, I had trouble understanding her motives. I mean, she was so carefully meticulous, right? But she designed a castle with a bizarre floorplan full of hidden rooms and moving staircases."

"I've considered that, too," Draco admitted, dropping his head back down beside hers. He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "It's almost as if she acted in two different ways. She was an intellectual, but she was  _so_  incredibly creative."

"I guess those  _are_  considered to be the characteristics of Ravenclaw house," Hermione said idly.

"True," he breathed, rolling onto his back, and Hermione cuddled herself into his warmth. "I wish we could figure this out. Because the other thing that Potter said – that it seemed arbitrary to bring us back on January 15th – what if that's significant somehow, too?"

"She was also very specific that we return on that particular day," Hermione murmured. "But why?"

"Because it was the day we left from? So we would be back to carry on where we'd left off without too many questions? So it would create less of an impact on the temporal fabric?" he pondered. He absently dug his hands into her hair, tilting her face towards his, pressing his lips to hers softly.

"That was my initial conclusion as well," Hermione murmured, kissing him again, drawing him in closer. Then she pulled back slightly. "But she was so brilliant; she would have been able to find a way to send us back  _to that day_  from any day. Furthermore, she selected the day and the year, at some point, when she arranged for the portal to bring us back. So again – why that day? It's a circular question."

"You're probably right, of course," Draco muttered distractedly, kissing her more deeply, his tongue grazing hers.

"What if there was more to it?" she breathed, even as her body awoke at his attention.

"More like what?" He drew away, blinking back into focus.

"I don't know," Hermione whispered, shaking her head, tracing patterns absently on his chest. "She  _always_ had a plan, right? I mean, she developed the time portal! She even figured out how to create time travel  _without_  affecting the future, something no one else has managed, and it was a thousand years ago."

"Right," he said slowly, "so say she knew you were her descendant and she… what, chose not to tell you for some reason. What if she was planning something else? Or –" he hesitated, "she only realized the significance when she learned Helena was pregnant."

Silence fell, heavy, between them.

"What did she want?" Hermione asked hoarsely, straining her mind.

"To see Helena again," he said after a long moment, his tone soft, and unexpectedly, a shiver crept down Hermione's spine. "Before she passed."

"But she never did," Hermione whispered, feeling the words, deep-seated in her heart. "Helena never made it back to Britain. Not alive, at least."

"Rowena grew ill, right?" Draco said, running a hand through his hair. "Helena had said, when she returned to Hogwarts, Rowena was 'no longer there', right?"

"What are you suggesting?" Hermione asked, with a nervous glance at him.

"What if this was all one elaborate plan?" he whispered. His grey eyes were serious. "Hear me out: what if you heard the portal because you're the heir? What if it only revealed itself  _to you_  on that specific day – a day that was planned a thousand years before –  _by design_?"

"Draco…" Hermione breathed, staring at him as the thought sunk in.

"But," he went on after a moment, running a hand through his hair, "so much would have been left to chance. I don't know."

"Rowena knew it would work!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed, sitting up on the bed, the cogs in her head whirring wildly. "Because she'd already met us! She knew it would work and she knew the date and the year when we would find the portal!"

"Merlin, Hermione, you're right," Draco said, stunned. He sat alongside her, leaning against the headboard. "But she needed to get us there, to her time, so that we could discover the truth… but the truth about what?"

"Draco," Hermione whispered, eyes wide. She stared at him for a long moment, shaking her head. "Do you know what any of this means?"

"Not yet," he shook his head, "but our role in this isn't over. There was something else that Rowena needed us to find – or learn.  _None_  of this was an accident!"

Hermione continued to stare at him, nervously chewing her lip. "How do you think Rowena would have reacted when she learned Helena had been murdered?"

"She would have been devastated," he said easily. "And with Audrey – Helena said Waldo took her body home, so he would have had to see Rowena. He would have explained what happened with his father, I suppose."

He hesitated, swallowing heavily. Hermione stared at him, waiting for him to go on, her mind racing frantically.

"Would Waldo have known Helena was a ghost?" Draco asked quietly. "And would he have told Rowena? It only makes sense that Helena's instinct, even in death, would be to return to Hogwarts, to her mother."

"But Helena took nearly a decade to return, and Rowena was ill," Hermione whispered; her heart was thumping anxiously against her chest.

"She was ill, and she wanted to see Helena again," Draco murmured, shutting his eyes. He pressed his hands to his temples. "She had so many intricate plans, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head, jumping up from the bed. "We need to find out more –  _something_ that might help us make sense of all this."

"Let me guess," Draco murmured drily, raising an eyebrow, "to the library?"

"Not quite," Hermione said, distractedly walking over to the overstuffed bookcase against the wall, tapping the spines of the books she scanned. "I've got four different editions of  _Hogwarts: A History_. Maybe there's something to learn about Ravenclaw."

She carefully drew two texts from the shelf and reclaimed her seat on the bed, handing one of the editions to Draco with raised brows. He took the book, summoned something from his bag, and slid his reading glasses on.

Hermione briefly stared, having forgotten he'd once told her in the past that he wore reading glasses. She'd never seen him use them in classes. She cleared her throat at his smirk, turning back to her copy of the book, cheeks flushed.

* * *

"Draco," Hermione hissed some time later. "Look at this." She jabbed the page she'd been reading with a finger.

He lifted his gaze from his book sharply. "Did you find something about Ravenclaw?"

"No," she murmured, a smile slipping to her features. "Do you remember the bards at the harvest feast?"

"Of course," he nodded, looking confused.

"I was reading about traditions during the early years of Hogwarts, and look at this." She pointed to a paragraph. "' _For a number of years, the students of Hogwarts were known to sing a merry song about the adventures of a white dragon. After a time, the song carried on as a tradition, though no one could remember where it had originated_.'"

Draco stared blankly for a moment, mouth agape before he burst out laughing. "Seriously!" he exclaimed, "I was the white dragon!"

"I remember," Hermione said, wiping at her eyes as she too giggled at the obscure way Draco had ended up in her favourite book. "The students must have particularly enjoyed that song. I guess in a small way, you  _did_ end up affecting history."

Draco chuckled, even as he shook his head.

"Okay, but look at this," he murmured, growing serious once more. "This says, in discussing Rowena's late days at Hogwarts, that Ravenclaw grew ill, and some believed the malady to be a sickness of the heart." He cast Hermione a significant glance, lips pressed together. "Ravenclaw elected to  _leave_  Hogwarts rather than carry out her remaining years, months, whatever she had left – in sickness."

"So she grew ill following Helena's death," Hermione breathed. She anxiously flipped to the section he was reading and skimmed the page. She vaguely remembered reading the passage before and hadn't thought it significant. "And she left? Even though she presumably knew Helena would be returning to Hogwarts as a ghost?"

"Perhaps she didn't want to see Helena that way?" Draco suggested, but he sounded unsure. Hermione couldn't picture it.

"Consider it was you," Hermione said, chewing her tongue. "Wouldn't you want to see her again, even if she was a ghost?"

"Honestly?" he murmured. "I don't know." He shook his head, hesitating. "I guess so. But it would be one of the most difficult things to experience. Just think how hard it was for  _us_  to see them like that. Then imagine it's your own child. I know I would feel… like I'd failed her, somehow, like I would want to help in some way."

Hermione set her book aside, pressing her fingers to her temples.

"Draco," she whispered, looking up at him. "What if she  _didn't_  leave, but the other founders only thought she did?"

"She didn't leave... physically," Draco murmured, catching on. His eyes were wide and Hermione thought she saw fear within them. He exhaled a heavy breath. "Are you suggesting you think she used the portal?"

"It took Helena a decade to return to Hogwarts, lost in her mourning – until shortly before Audrey was to be a student," Hermione said quietly, desperately, "what if Rowena was running out of time and she didn't know when Helena would arrive?"

"But the user can't activate the portal," Draco murmured. "And she knew  _we_  would return to Hogwarts, knowing everything about it… on January 15th, 1999."

A heavy silence fell over the two of them. Hermione furiously tried to unravel the puzzle in her brain, forcing the loose ends to connect.

She placed her hands on the quilt, her fingers splayed out, taking a deep breath.

"When Helena was pregnant, Rowena learned her line carried on, but then Helena was murdered. Rowena wanted to see Helena again. She knew Helena would eventually arrive, because of Audrey, but didn't know when. She was running out of time." Hermione took another deep breath, feeling Draco tense beside her. "She knew the portal worked, because she'd used it. She needed us to go to the past…"

"To learn the truth," Draco said, wide-eyed. "To meet Helena and Waldo, to learn about them and the founders… and understand the portal." He sighed. "This is extrapolation, but hear me out: she left her notes for us to find, because after we left, she opened the Room of Requirement, knowing that we would know how it works, a thousand years later, if it was public knowledge."

Draco paused, running a hand through his hair. "She was monitoring the room the whole time, but she didn't interrupt us until we solved the code and she realized something was strange about us, that we were in pursuit of something. She needed to  _test_  us. What were we doing? She didn't  _know_  we had come from the future at first, and then once she knew, once everything had happened with Helena, she wanted to determine – were we smart enough? Would we be able to figure everything out? Maybe she was afraid of the consequences of outright telling us anything, not fully understanding the portal at the time, given it wasn't yet built."

"But we don't know how to use the portal," Hermione breathed, her mouth dry. Draco's suspicions made too much sense, and the threads began to tie together.

"Do you still have her notes?" he asked softly. "Our notes were a charmed duplication of hers."

Hermione dug through her nightstand, handing him her copy of Ravenclaw's notes she had brought back with her. Draco's breath hitched as he stared at the last page.

"An incantation," Hermione breathed. "I can hardly believe this."

" _Two_  incantations. One to reveal, one to activate. Merlin. It all lines up," Draco murmured, though he looked as incredulous as she felt.

"Except for one glaring detail," Hermione said, making a face. "Where has she been these thousand years? Some sort of time-space limbo?"

"Sure," Draco said, shrugging. "You saw how brilliant she was with charms. Is it unfeasible that she figured out a way to suspend herself in time? But… how could she be sure Helena would still be here?"

"She must have thought Helena wouldn't leave while her descendants went to Hogwarts," Hermione suggested. "And if Helena lingered over the pain of being unable to raise Audrey, she wouldn't be able to find peace… until she learned of her line carrying on."

Hermione paused, thinking the scenario through. "Rowena would have been watching, trying to figure us out. Maybe she saw me wearing the necklace, realized it was the same, and cast a lineage spell of her own, determining I was the next magical descendant, after over nine centuries of Muggles. But she needed Helena to believe their line carried on again. She needed to make sure Helena could find peace."

"This is a lot of guesswork," Draco said hesitantly.

"What else do we have?" Hermione asked, quietly. " _If_  she used the portal – we'll have to ask her." She pondered for a moment. "I wonder if this all happened before or after Slytherin locked a giant serpent in Hogwarts and left the castle."

Draco scanned a few pages. "It doesn't say. I always carried the impression Slytherin left when he was older. So presumably this happened before. Do you think it's relevant?"

"No," Hermione said with an apologetic shrug. "Academic curiosity."

"Well let's stick with one curiosity for now," Draco said with a grin. "Do we tell Helena her mother  _may_  have used the portal nearly a thousand years ago or do we try to confirm our suspicions first?"

"I don't know," Hermione shook her head. "Maybe we ought to try first. If we're way off base here, what will be gained from telling Helena she might possibly see her mother again?"

"You're probably right," Draco murmured, looking again at the sheet of parchment with the incantations. "But if we happen to find Rowena… we'll get Helena?" He frowned, tracing the lines of copy, and Hermione nodded. "I have a feeling about this, and it's both exhilarating and ominous."

"I know exactly what you mean," Hermione said with a grimace. "Shall we take a walk?"

Draco nodded and stowed his glasses back in his bag, casting a disillusionment spell on himself to get through the Gryffindor common room without notice.

He removed the spell in the hallway and Hermione, distracted as he appeared beside her, nearly collided with Neville.

"Oh, Neville!" she exclaimed, steadying herself. "I didn't see you, I apologize."

"It's alright," Neville said, scratching his head. "I was hoping to run into you. Not literally of course." Neville snickered at his own joke for a moment before he noticed Draco looking at him with a raised brow. "Malfoy."

"Longbottom," Draco returned, tilting his head.

"I wanted to give you this," Neville said, thrusting a small potted shoot of a plant into Hermione's hand. "It's a cutting of the  _fortuna amare_  plant. It offers luck and good fortune in new love."

"Oh," Hermione breathed, taking the small plant. "Thank you, Neville. That's very kind of you."

Even Draco's brow was furrowed. "Thanks, Longbottom."

Neville shook his head. "I just remember, last year, with the Carrows… I could see how much you hated it. Then Nott told us about that spell you'd been using to block the pain receptors, asking the younger students to  _pretend_  they were in pain." Neville swallowed, and Hermione could only imagine how much that meant to him, with his parents stuck permanently in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's.

"Right, well," Draco said, digging a toe into the floor. "We couldn't just go along with it, could we?"

"You could have," Neville said with a shrug. "But you put yourselves at risk instead. That's when I knew you weren't that bad." He looked between Hermione and Draco. "I think you'll be good for one another."

"I appreciate that, Longbottom," Draco said, offering a tight smile. Hermione beamed at Neville as he took his leave.

She turned to Draco once they were alone again and he dropped a kiss to her cheek.

"I'll run this back to my dorm," she said, gesturing at the small plant, smiling.

"I'll be right here," he returned softly.

* * *

Hermione turned to Draco when they arrived at the courtyard, heart pounding anxiously in her chest. If Ravenclaw had somehow, for some reason, entered the portal a thousand years prior… He offered her a grimace in return.

They walked up to the bare stretch of wall where the passageway had been before, and Hermione ran her hands along the rough stone.

Draco lifted his wand and murmured " _Portus Revelio_."

The words had been scrawled above the activation spell. Hermione swallowed thickly as the stones dissolved, as if into thin air, and the passageway revealed itself.

"What if we somehow activate the portal and it takes us into the past again?" she breathed, drying her clammy hands on her skirt.

"Then at least we know how to activate it again to return?" Draco asked feebly. He took a cautious step into the darkness of the passage and Hermione followed, slipping her hand into his. "But the traveler can't activate it themselves, remember? When we first stumbled across it... it was already activated." He swallowed. "Pre-arranged."

"Right," Hermione said, her soft voice echoing off the walls of the narrow corridor, overgrown with vines and foliage blotting out the afternoon sun once more.

They arrived at the heavy, concealed door near the end of the passage and halted. Hermione was seized with a recollection of the first time they had found the door, and argued over whether or not to open it.

Her eyes flickered to Draco, now standing with her instead of against her. It felt like so long ago. Even remembering the early, stilted truce between them after they had arrived – and the way things had naturally grown between them, so easy and free in that different environment. She felt a smile drift to her lips at the memories.

"So the portal should be inactive, right?" she muttered under her breath, bringing herself back to the reality of the present.

"Presumably," Draco replied, meeting her tone. He hesitated, then handed her the sheet of parchment. "I feel like you should do it."

"You're probably right," she whispered, even as her hands trembled while she drew her wand. She unlocked the door and pressed forward, entering the small room.

The plain, stone altar stood in the centre of the otherwise empty and undecorated room, as it had when they had returned from the past. The only light came from the dim corridor, and Draco's lit wand tip.

"Ready?" she breathed, unsure why she was speaking so quietly. Something about the space felt heavy and ancient; the air was dense as if something hovered within. Beside her, Draco nodded.

Steadying herself and her breathing, Hermione lifted her wand and silently read the incantation from the sheet of parchment with Rowena's old runes still written alongside, preparing herself. The situation felt oddly circular.

Confident with the spell, she recited it out loud, carrying on even as a wind rose up from nothing, lifting particles of dust from the floor, and the room began to fill with white light, emanating from the altar, obliterating the weak beam of Draco's  _lumos_.

He stepped closer, drawing her towards him as the magic swirled and pulsed through the room around them, and Hermione felt it within her soul, drawing on her core magic. She gasped a sharp intake of breath, clinging tighter to Draco as the magic grew ever stronger, wrenching from somewhere deep within her.

Then the event abruptly ended, the swirling dust dropping to the stone floor as the whistling wind died, and the light faded, leaving a sharp imprint on Hermione's eyelids.

"What happened?" she whispered, turning to Draco. She carefully folded the parchment and tucked it into a pocket.

But he was staring, wide-eyed, at the altar. Hermione followed his gaze and felt her heart stumble a beat, then rapidly escalate.

It was Rowena Ravenclaw, materializing in an ethereal form. Not entirely physical, but neither was she ghostly. She stood before the altar and smiled warmly at the two of them, seeming to emanate a sort of silvery light, much like what had pulsed from the altar into the room moments before.

"Professor Ravenclaw," Draco said with a tilt of his head, barely missing a beat. "It is wonderful to see you again."

"Yes," Hermione choked out, eyes wide. "Wonderful."

"Hermione, Draco," Ravenclaw said with a knowing smile. "It is indeed most excellent. Have I arrived?"


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Friends. You're all so wonderful. All the support on the last chapter made me a little watery. Thanks so much for all your beautiful words.
> 
> There are 1-2 more chapters coming, depending on how the writing goes, with the remaining content either one longer chapter or split into two. I hope you enjoy this one xoxo
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

_Previously..._

_"Professor Ravenclaw," Draco said with a tilt of his head, barely missing a beat. "It is wonderful to see you again."_

_"Yes," Hermione choked out, eyes wide. "Wonderful."_

_"Hermione, Draco," Ravenclaw said with a knowing smile. "It is indeed most excellent. Have I arrived?"_

* * *

Hermione stared, her gaze flickering between Draco, who stood with a bland and welcoming smile on his face, to Rowena Ravenclaw, who beamed at the two of them as she shimmered with a pulsing silver light.

"Professor Ravenclaw," Hermione said, forcing a calmness she didn't feel in her soul, in her racing heart. "You have indeed arrived; welcome to the year 1999."

"Thank you," the woman said with a nod. "I do appreciate it.

Draco took a step toward Ravenclaw, his eyes focused and intent. "Professor, we are curious how you've managed to make your way here."

"Of course you are," Ravenclaw said with a demure smile. "Mr Malfoy, I always believed you would have made an excellent and thoughtful Ravenclaw. But Salazar never was one to turn down a long, pure blood line."

Ravenclaw stepped towards them, away from the stone altar centred in the room, and the air around her feet shimmered with the same incandescent light which surrounded her.

"I imagine you have learned the tragic circumstances my dear Helena faced with Waldo Baron," Ravenclaw said with a tilt of her head. Hermione and Draco nodded. "Of course you have. And I presume you know, that following the death of Helena, I grew terminally ill."

Hermione glanced to Draco, still scarcely believing this was happening. Perhaps they should go find Helena. But the woman carried on.

"When Waldo brought me Helena's body," Rowena swallowed, pressing her eyes tightly shut for a brief moment. "I could not think, nor could I reason. My heart was broken. Waldo told me of the newborn, young Audrey Burke, and how Helena had lingered in death, burdened with such heavy despair. All I could think was that I needed to do something –  _anything_  – to help Helena find the peace she deserved."

Rowena paused, shaking her head.

"I digress, so easily. You asked  _how_  I am here." Rowena glanced behind her to the stone altar. "I have tethered what remains of my magical core to this altar; I will be unable to stray far from the portal, and once we are done here, my magical core will simply cease to exist."

Hermione felt her breath hitch as Draco's eyes widened, flickering to the altar, his mouth slightly agape.

"That's... " Hermione breathed, unable to find the words. "How long will the portal stay active?"

"For as long as we need," Rowena said, a peaceful smile upon her features. Her eyes drifted to the necklace at Hermione's throat. "My dear. I did not realize the significance when you visited me at first. But when I learned of the portal, when we grew to know one another, I began to suspect." Rowena shook her head. "Helena showed me an image you gave her – after I learned she was pregnant, before she and Waldo left Hogwarts – an image of the two of you at the Solstice Ball, and I remembered upon seeing it, the necklace you wore that night. And I knew why I had used the portal to summon you to the past."

"Helena is still here," Hermione breathed, her voice feeble. "Helena, and Waldo."

"So my suspicions are correct," Ravenclaw said quietly. "They both linger on after so many years. And you have learned the truth as well?"

"That I am long descended from you, and Helena," Hermione said softly. Draco's hand slipped into hers. "Yes, Helena shared the memories with us. We have discussed it at great length."

"Waldo was lost in his agony and despair for a thousand years," Draco cut in. Rowena's eyes flew to him with consternation. "But upon learning the truth about Hermione, of their lines once again carrying on, Waldo and Helena have grown close once more. They've begun to move on."

"I am relieved to hear of this," Rowena said, a hand clutched to her chest. "It was my intention, in calling you to the past, that you might learn what you needed to help them."

"They are pleased," Hermione said, shaking her head. "But still they linger on."

Rowena gazed, deep in thought, at Hermione and Draco for a long moment.

"I don't suppose, Draco, whether you might find Helena and Waldo for me? I'm afraid I will not be able to travel so far from the altar," Ravenclaw requested softly.

"Of course," Draco murmured with a nod. With a squeeze to her hand, he left Hermione alone with her distant ancestor.

Hermione let out a breath. "It is truly an honour to see you once more, Professor," she said. "Though I wish it would have been under different circumstances. The whole time Draco and I were in your time – after we learned the truth about Helena and Waldo – we tried to think of ways we could help them. Ultimately, we were forced to resolve that we could help them only in death, upon returning home."

"You were a lovely, considerate friend to Helena, Hermione. She missed you greatly, and spoke of you fondly, after you left." Rowena forced a smile. "Until the end."

Hermione nodded, swiping at a sudden tear in the corner of her eye. "I believe Helena was the friend I had never had before, and had always wanted."

"Perhaps the two of you recognized the blood bond, though you didn't know if it at the time."

"Perhaps," Hermione murmured, her brow furrowed. "Professor, have you been… waiting? All these years?"

Ravenclaw shook her head, smiling. "I quite imagine waiting in a small, dark room for a thousand years would be more than my overactive mind could handle. No, the last I remember was tethering myself to the magic of the portal."

"That's good," Hermione said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Are you aware, then, that your line –  _our_  line, I suppose – transitioned into the Muggle world when Helena's granddaughter, Edith, gave birth to a Squib?"

"No," Ravenclaw shook her head mournfully. "My only knowledge was that you existed a thousand years later – and given the fact that you had admitted to being of Muggle birth, I considered the thought that the line had fallen Muggle over the years."

"Of course," Hermione smiled. "I still get the timeline confused, sometimes."

"Then you can imagine my surprise and confusion, when I learned that  _I_  had transported the two of you into the past, before I knew anything about the situation," Ravenclaw mused.

But the woman glanced up sharply before Hermione could respond, and she felt Draco's presence return alongside her, his arm twining around her waist.

At the sharp intake of breath behind her, Hermione was alerted to the fact that Helena had joined them, and the flash of pain that passed through Ravenclaw's eyes made Hermione's stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Helena," Rowena breathed softly, taking a step forward as the ghostly form of Helena drifted cautiously toward the altar, Waldo keeping a respectful distance behind them. Rowena's gaze flickered to him. "And Waldo."

Waldo nodded stoically, but Helena was shaking her head, looking torn between bewilderment and incredulity.

"How is this possible?" Helena asked softly. "This – this is the portal?"

"Indeed, it is," Rowena said softly, and Hermione thought her silver eyes were shimmery with tears. "I needed to see you again, my dearest Helena. When Waldo told me you had been killed… and that you lingered on…" Rowena shook her head. While the woman was neither human nor spirit, it seemed her constitution was close enough to Helena's that Rowena was able to rest a hand on the ghost's cheek.

Cheers streamed down Helena's face as she threw her arms around her mother and Rowena's eyes fell shut as she returned the embrace. Beside Draco, Waldo exhaled a heavy breath.

Helena drew back after a long moment, still shaking her head in disbelief as she held the spectral form of her mother at arm's length.

"How are you here?" Helena breathed. Waldo floated up alongside his companion for support.

"I've just explained to Hermione and Draco," Rowena prefaced, her gaze flickering to the two students, "after you passed on, I grew sick."

"I remember," Helena said mournfully, "when I returned to Hogwarts to observe Audrey going to school, you were gone. Helga told me you chose to leave Hogwarts."

"I told Helga I was leaving," Rowena said, a thoughtful tilt to her head. "I didn't want to concern the others, so I didn't tell them of my true intentions. But I connected my magical core to the magic of the portal, only to awaken if –  _when_  – Hermione and Draco discovered the truth and sought me out."

"A lot of faith in our deductive skills, if you ask me," Draco muttered under his breath but Helena turned and beamed at him, breaking the tension of the moment.

"But you've done brilliantly!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, I did have faith," Rowena said, smiling proudly. "Because I had seen the two of you solve puzzles more complex."

"How much did you know?" Helena asked, frowning. "When Hermione and Draco were at school with Waldo and I. Were you aware, at the time, of Hermione's lineage?"

"I wasn't," Rowena shook her head. "I hadn't a clue, or indeed even, why I had brought them a thousand years into the past. It was only after I learned of Audrey, and the tragic fate which had befallen the two of you," she nodded to Helena and Waldo, "that I pieced together why I had called Hermione and Draco back so far. I simply asked myself, what am I able to do, to reach out to Helena once again?"

"And the answer was already there," Hermione breathed, "because you already  _knew_ of us, and the portal."

"Yes," Rowena said warmly. "And in that instant, it all came together."

"But to what end?" Helena asked, frowning. Her pale eyes flickered to Waldo, who had remained silent but thoughtful.

"So that we might learn the truth as well," Waldo finally said quietly. "So that we might begin to let go of the pain we have experienced for so many years."

Rowena nodded slowly, her eyes closing briefly. "I only wish it had not been a thousand years. But given Hermione was born of Muggles, I had to believe the line was non-magic for some considerable length of time. And having no other reference for our magical descendants, a thousand years simply had to do."

"If it had not been a thousand years," Helena murmured, "we would never have met Hermione and Draco. A long time it was, but meant to be so."

Waldo nodded his assent. Hermione reached a hand toward Helena, a smile playing at her lips, and she felt a ghostly hand pass through hers.

"Professor Ravenclaw, if I may," Draco said, frowning. "While I understand your intentions, Waldo and Helena have already learned the truth about Hermione, and have reconciled with one another. But yet –"

"But yet, we linger still," Helena broke in, smiling at Draco. Draco nodded, meeting Helena's gaze. "Waldo and I have discussed the subject at length."

Helena smiled at her ghostly counterpart, and the two entwined hands.

"Helena and I have experienced the pull," Waldo explained, clarifying, "to peace. We suspect it would be as easy as letting go. We cannot be certain whether we would be together, and we have only just found one another again. And life – rather, death – now, is not so bad."

"But even so," Helena continued with a barely audible sigh, "the  _after_ does call to us." She drifted closer to Waldo. "To wherever we will go. We can only hope we will go together, when we let go. But we have decided to remain for the duration of this school year."

She smiled at Hermione and Draco, then back to Waldo, before continuing.

"We choose to have faith that where we go, we _will_  go together." Hermione glanced at Draco, offering him a brief smile at the familiarity of Helena's words. "But Hermione and Draco never gave up on us, even in death, and we will stay with them until they leave Hogwarts."

Hermione blinked, touched by Helena's words as the ghost drifted nearer. Rowena beamed at the four of them, clutching her chest as if her heart simply couldn't take it all.

"Hermione, Draco," Ravenclaw said, turning to the two of them. "I don't suppose I might have a few minutes with Helena and Waldo?"

"Of course," Hermione murmured in acquiescence, slipping her hand into Draco's. "Will you call us back, before you leave?"

"Of course," Rowena said with a bow of the head. Helena wiggled her fingers at them as they left the room and walked in silence down the length of the passageway.

Hermione shook her head; Draco seemed as deep in thought as she was.

"Can you believe it?" she asked quietly as they arrived in the corridor, making their way back into the halls of Hogwarts.

"No," Draco said blatantly, "truthfully, I had suspected we were trying to talk something into being real. That we were simply getting carried away, in light of all the remarkable things that had already happened. I didn't think we would  _actually_  find Ravenclaw there."

"But everything is starting to make sense, isn't it?" Hermione breathed, meeting his grey eyes in earnest. "The reason Ravenclaw used the portal to call us back? Why it was  _us_  specifically?"

"Of course," he said, shaking his head. "It all makes sense, now, in hindsight. But it's utterly bizarre all the same."

"Absolutely," Hermione breathed. "And Helena and Waldo! I almost can't believe it."

"It means we did it," Draco said softly, his expression serious. " _You_  did it. In a few short months, Helena and Waldo will finally find the peace they've been seeking for a millenium."

" _We_. I'm so happy for them," Hermione said, even as she blinked back a stinging tear. "I guess there was a part of me that thought, even if they couldn't pass on, that at least they would stay to see future generations attend Hogwarts."

"I think that was just a part of the unresolved grief that held them tethered here," Draco mused. "Without knowing, for so long, what had happened to the line… and now, knowing once more. They can finally find peace. That our –  _your_  children will carry on the line once more."

He flushed lightly, averting his gaze. Hermione would have giggled at his discomfort if not for the raging embarrassment that coursed through her as well.

"Hypothetically," Hermione posed, stubbornly gazing at the floor as they walked, "say that was a thing that happened. One day, of course, down the road." She felt her cheeks grow redder. "Helena said I would have a daughter one day, to carry on the maternal line. And I've always heard the Malfoy line carries on paternally. Is there any basis in fact for any of that?"

"Yes," Draco clipped, toeing the ground uncomfortably. "Magically, that does happen. Logistically, I don't know what it would mean for any future offspring."

Hermione snickered quietly at his clinical assessment of the situation.

"I suppose it would be one of each, then," he continued, brow furrowed as he looked up again. "Or more – but at least one." Hermione chewed her lip to keep from smiling at his obvious unease.

"Perhaps that ought to be a conversation for another day," she said quietly. Draco exhaled a sharp breath, nodding.

"Another day," he agreed, carding his fingers through his hair. "Not that I don't – just… not now."

Hermione smiled, opening her mouth to concur when a flash of ghostly white caught in her periphery.

Hermione's eyes flickered up to Waldo as he drifted up alongside them and her heart jumped upon belatedly realizing his ghostly chains were gone. She bit her lip on the flood of emotion.

"Helena and her mother are speaking privately," Waldo explained by way of greeting.

Hermione nodded with a smile; Draco looked relieved for the distraction.

"I have been meaning to thank you, Draco, Hermione," Waldo said stiffly. "I am greatly appreciative of what you have done for Helena and myself. You have given us in death what we could never have had in life: a chance to be together in peace and happiness."

Hermione looked at Draco, feeling tears spring to her eyes.

"Absolutely," Draco said, turning to his old friend. "Hermione and I knew, even when we were still in your time, that we wanted to help you. It's an honour to share in your lives even now."

Waldo nodded, his face heavy with emotion. "The years I lost with Helena – I can never get them back. But she is more at rest than I have ever seen her. As am I. Knowing that our line carries on once again through Hermione has brought us both to a place of peace, and together."

"I'm so glad to hear that, Waldo," Hermione said quietly. "Helena became a very dear friend to me, as you were to Draco. It pained us, at the time, to know you both would linger on in distress."

Waldo merely offered her a winning grin and clapped a hand on her back, the ghostly appendage floating through her shoulder. Instinctively, Hermione shuddered at the sensation.

Nott walked briskly past en route to the dungeons, offering a cursory nod to the three of them.

Then he halted mid-step and turned on the spot, his eyes narrowed and suspicious.

"Nott," Draco said with a smirk towards Waldo, shoving his hands into his pockets. Nott's eyes flickered rapidly between Hermione, Draco and Waldo. Hermione could see him attempting to make the pieces fit.

"Nott," Waldo echoed with a tilt of the head. "Draco, is this your friend who doesn't believe we met a thousand years ago?"

Nott's eyes flew wide open at hearing the Bloody Baron speak – and in full sentences, at that.

"Okay," Nott choked feebly, "I believe you."

"I knew a Nott once, I think," Waldo carried on, staring distantly, as if trying to remember.

"Cornelia Nott," Draco supplied. He smirked at the confusion on Nott's face. Hermione snickered at the situation.

"Of course!" Waldo exclaimed. "Cornelia Nott. Now I remember. She and I were betrothed to be wed."

"Right," Draco nodded. "She was your escort to the Solstice Ball."

"Wait, truly?" Nott asked, as if abandoning his attempt to make sense of the situation and deciding to simply go along with it. "You knew Cornelia Nott? It was her grandparents that carried the House of Nott to England from Scandinavia in the tenth century."

"The same," Waldo nodded stoically.

Hermione rolled her eyes; it was as if purebloods were  _literally_  forced to memorize their family trees.

But Nott's eyes widened, fascinated beyond measure at the knowledge that one of his early English ancestors had gone to Hogwarts with Waldo, all skepticism apparently having vanished.

Hermione met Draco's eyes as Nott started bombarding Waldo with questions; the ghost, surprisingly, seemed just as eager to dredge up ancient memories and the two were suddenly bonding like old friends. Draco merely smirked in return.

As Hermione had resigned herself to hovering awkwardly while the three males discussed old pureblood traditions, and how they had changed, Helena floated towards them, her eyes shining but her smile broad.

"Thank you, Hermione," Helena proclaimed, throwing her arms around and through Hermione's shoulders, "and Draco." She gave the blond a similar embrace. "I can still scarcely believe this has all happened."

Nott turned to Helena, looking bewildered once more.

"Is she ready to go?" Waldo asked, his pale brow furrowing.

"Yes," Helena said with a gentle nod and a sad smile. "She has requested we all return to say farewell."

"Who's  _she_?" Nott breathed under his breath to Draco.

"Rowena Ravenclaw," Draco said with a nonchalant shrug. "Her magical core has been suspended within the time portal for a thousand years, in anticipation of one day speaking with Helena and Waldo again. It's all connected to why we went to the past in the first place. Now she is ready to release herself from existence."

" _What the fuck_!" Nott hissed, his brows high into his fringe. He turned his expectant gaze to Hermione who simply shrugged, nodding. "I'm coming."

Draco merely laughed, slinging an arm around Hermione's shoulders.

* * *

When they returned to the portal off the courtyard, Rowena was noticeably faded, so much so that Hermione could see the altar through her transparency.

Ravenclaw gazed at the group of them, a peaceful smile upon her features, until she noticed Nott, staring at her, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"Hello," Rowena murmured, looking on at Nott with consternation.

"Professor Ravenclaw, this is Theodore Nott," Draco said, waving a hand.

"Wonderful to meet you," Ravenclaw said with a bemused smile.

"Likewise," Nott choked, swallowing audibly.

Ravenclaw turned back to the odd collection of beings. She looked from one to the next, and Hermione started as she realized Ravenclaw was quite literally fading before their eyes.

"It is time now," the woman said, her expression that of peaceful, fatigued resolve, "that I carry on. I see my final purpose has been achieved. The House of Ravenclaw will carry on, and it is time for us all to find our peace. I shall go, and my magic will return to the Earth, as the old magic wills it. I thank you all for the roles you have played in my life."

Helena sniffled, caving into Waldo, even as her eyes remained fixed on the form of her mother. Nott, while bewildered, stood respectfully, eyes focused on Ravenclaw as well.

Draco drew Hermione closer to him, and she leaned into his chest, drawing comfort in his presence.

"My sweet Helena," Rowena said, "I shall miss you greatly."

"And you," Helena breathed through her tears, racing unchecked down her translucent cheeks. Hermione felt her own tears, stinging at the corners of her eyes, even as she too refused to look away.

"Please, won't you all look after one another?" Ravenclaw asked, and with a final exhale, she offered one last beguiling smile.

They all watched, as with that last breath, Rowena broke into a mist; a million silver droplets sparkled and swirled upon the air. Hermione's breath caught as the last remnants of Rowena's magic swelled in the air, drifting and creating their own light in the most stunning, erratic dance.

And as they stood, enraptured in the ethereal beauty of the moment, Hermione could have sworn she heard Ravenclaw's voice one last time, floating across the gentle breeze as the flecks of silver light twisted up and around, until at last they faded into the air and the earth and the stone.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks as always for all the kind words, the follows, the favourites. It all means so much. I've hardly had time to write lately, and so I haven't been great with responding, but you've all been so lovely and encouraging.
> 
> I mentioned a couple chapters ago I was nominated for a few Granger Enchanted awards, and I'm thrilled and honoured to say I'm now a finalist in all three categories. Chronos Historia for most creative plot; Proximate for best Healer!Hermione; and myself for favourite writer of ten years or more. Thank you, so much, to those who nominated or voted for me in the semi-finals. And voting for the finals is open until April 7th on the Granger Enchanted Survivors fb group, because some people have asked :)
> 
> Lastly, before I let you read, there will be ONE more chapter after this one. I'm not one to draw out endings but there was no way I could adequately address all the outstanding loose ends in this chapter. Thank you for sticking with me xoxo
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Hermione frowned as she walked through the corridor beside Draco, the latter obviously deep in thought and wildly distracted.

The past few months, since the excitement with Ravenclaw and the time portal had occurred, had been comparatively quiet and simple. Hermione, with Draco alongside her – though some days begrudgingly – had fallen into a rigorous NEWT review and study schedule.

On occasion, Helena and Waldo would drift through the walls of the library to join them, but it was clear the two ghosts had no interest whatsoever in helping the students prepare for their exams, given Helena and Waldo had not been students for a millennium.

But Hermione felt the heavy tension as their NEWTs grew ever nearer; only a little more than a month remained of their eighth and final year at Hogwarts.

Draco scuffed his boots along the stone floor as he walked, an uncharacteristic slouch to his shoulders and a furrow to his brow.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, nudging him with her shoulder. Draco flinched, looking up to meet her gaze. "Are you nervous about tonight?"

"Tonight," Draco drawled, raising an eyebrow. "Why would I be  _nervous_? I'm not the one who has to give a speech in front of hundreds of people."

"Thanks for the reminder," Hermione muttered under her breath.

It was the second of May, and Hogwarts would play host to a commemorative ceremony, in recognition of the one year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Much of wizarding Britain would be in attendance, and Harry, Ron and Hermione had been asked to give an address.

Hermione attempted to push the nerve-wracking thoughts delicately to the back of her mind, as she had done for the past month every time the subject had come up.

"Well, something's bothering you," she said, tossing her hair from her shoulder in an attempt at flippancy. She hesitated, turning to Draco's distraught countenance once more. "If you don't want to talk about it…"

"No, I do," Draco said, running a hand through his hair. "I just know how much you've had on your mind in preparation for tonight. I thought it could wait until after."

He turned to her, his lips pursed. Hermione stopped walking, taking a seat on a nearby bench and Draco joined her.

"I've received word from a few of the Potions Masters I reached out to with regards to my apprenticeship," he explained, drawing several sheets of parchment out from the pocket of his robes.

"Oh, that's wonderful news, isn't it?" Hermione asked, blinking. "Or were they not acceptance letters?"

"No, they're all acceptance letters," Draco conceded. "From the Masters in Madrid, Marseille, Budapest." He thumbed absently through the letters as he spoke. "Actually, they all sounded quite eager."

"Well, your samples were brilliant," Hermione said, beaming at him. "And Slughorn is projecting a top O for your NEWT."

Draco hissed at the precognition, and Hermione smiled, knowing how he refused to acknowledge the idea that he might finish top of their class in Potions, in the event that it might somehow jinx his exam results.

Hermione frowned, turning to him once more. "Nothing from the potioneers in England or Wales?"

"No," Draco replied carefully, "not yet. I suspect it might be… too close to home. My name, of course."

So that was why he looked so distraught, despite the otherwise good news. He had guessed, rather pessimistically, Hermione had thought at the time, that the Masters familiar with the name of Malfoy might be hesitant to take him on as an apprentice.

And the completion of his mastery would take two years. International wizarding travel, whether via Portkey, Floo or Apparition, was governed by strict and complex rules.

"I understand," Hermione murmured. While a part of her was thrilled for Draco that he was pursuing his dream of earning a mastery in Potions, with the ultimate goal of opening his own apothecary one day, she was simultaneously saddened at the thought of being apart for the majority of the two years.

Hermione had already been speaking with representatives in multiple departments at the Ministry about pursuing an entry-level position almost immediately out of school.

"So," Draco said with a heavy sigh, forcing a smile. "You see why it's a difficult decision."

"We can make it work," she reminded him, referencing the discussion they'd had when Draco had first decided to reach out internationally. She smiled brightly. "This is good news, Draco! Of those three, which would you prefer?"

"I can't decide," Draco admitted. "I have family near Marseille, which would be nice. Madrid would be the most temperate option. And Budapest has a long and fruitful history in potioneering and potions development. I'm certain I would learn things there that I couldn't learn anywhere else."

"Could your pale skin handle living in Spain?" Hermione teased and Draco raised an eyebrow as he gave her a look of consternation.

"Never you mind my fair skin," he said defensively. "I'll have you know I am perfectly capable of getting a tan in the proper climate."

"Right," Hermione snorted. "I'm more inclined to believe you'd burn to a crisp."

Draco leaned in towards Hermione, his grey eyes flashing, though his lips twitched.

"Do I need to shut you up?" he growled, his gaze penetrating hers as he tugged her nearer by her tie.

"Yes," Hermione breathed.

* * *

Hermione released a heavy exhale as she smoothed a non-existent wrinkle from her gown. The nerves had steadily crept up on her since she and Draco had parted ways that afternoon.

While she understood the collective desire of the wizarding world to celebrate the downfall of the most notorious dark wizard to have ever existed, for many, the Battle of Hogwarts had been a day of devastating losses, and the event would bring those memories back.

Even thinking about it, Hermione was forced to relive the mental images of Fred, of Remus and Tonks, of Lavender and Colin, and so many others.

She took another deep breath.

It would be a night to honour the fallen, and to look towards a better future.

Hermione forced a smile as she met Draco on the landing at the base of Gryffindor Tower. He was dashing in his finest dress robes, his hair done atop his head in a way that made Hermione's stomach clench. A crooked smile grew on his face as he saw her.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, bending to drop a kiss to the back of her hand.

Hermione flushed as she met his eyes, offering him a small curtsy before tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow.

"Thank you," she replied, meeting his gaze as they started towards the Great Hall. "You look very handsome, yourself."

"I like that colour on you," Draco said conversationally, though his eyes shone.

Hermione glanced down at the dress she had purchased in Hogsmeade for the occasion. It was a soft, flowing lilac material with silver stitching and beaded embellishments.

"Thank you," Hermione repeated blankly, forcing herself to swallow.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked, turning to her with a playful nudge to her side. "Are you nervous now?"

"I suppose," Hermione said with a sigh. "It's just… so many people will be here who suffered such terrible losses that day. What am I supposed to say to them that will make that any better? Why does it matter what I have to say?"

"You don't need to make them feel better," Draco murmured. "But they want to hear from you all the same. And Potter,  _and_  Weasley. I'm not sure whether you realize, Hermione, how much it meant to people to know you lot were still alive, back in seventh year."

"Really?" Hermione asked sharply, eyes flickering to him.

"Really," Draco echoed, his brows knitting together. "Everyone knew if you'd been caught, it would be all over the  _Prophet_. People tried to keep quiet about it, but every day the front page  _wasn't_  a great photo of the three of you – I don't know, it was like a morale boost. Your mere existence became symbolic of hope. Around Hogwarts, anyways.  _And_  when the Carrows weren't around, of course."

"I didn't know," she said quietly with a long exhale.

"And I can only imagine the same held true in the greater wizarding world," he concluded. "So, I'm not certain they'll care what you say. But the fact that you said anything at all will resonate."

"Thank you," Hermione breathed. "That's helped a bit."

"Good," Draco said, planting a kiss on her lips. "Now come, I want to show you off."

* * *

Hermione relaxed into her seat, absently sipping her Butterbeer as she observed the goings on of the event.

The address with Harry and Ron had gone better than she had expected. Harry had thanked everyone for attending, before sharing a few of his experiences over the months which led up to the final battle; the hopelessness, the struggles they'd faced, and ultimately, the belief that they had to carry on in spite of everything. Many people had been in tears.

Ron had shared stories as well, anecdotes that had had the audience chuckling. Ron shared a message of hope for the future with those in attendance, in a way that only Ron could, and Hermione had found herself to be immensely proud of both him and Harry, beaming at the two of them as they spoke.

And when Hermione had stepped forward, her voice sounding oddly unfamiliar with the  _Sonorous_  charm cast upon it, she shared her convictions of the wizarding world moving forward. Of her dreams of an integrated society, where blood purity was irrelevant – a world driven forward by love rather than torn apart by hate.

And when Hermione had met Draco's eye across the hall – she couldn't be certain whether the sheen she had thought she saw in his eye was a trick of the light – she had found herself swallowing thickly as she carried on.

She closed with a moment of silence, in remembrance of the fallen, and many were swiping delicately at their eyes as the attendees collectively rose to their feet.

A large memorial plaque that had been mounted was then revealed; the enormity of the list of names had Hermione's eyes stinging as well.

Then she re-took her seat with Harry and Ron, her hand instinctively slipping into Draco's as she glanced at him, feeling her heart swell at the pride in his gaze. Though the emotion of the evening had been overwhelming – Hermione had had to remind herself more than once that they had escaped, they were alive – it was a relief to know the world was able to move on.

"You were brilliant," Draco murmured, turning to her and running a hand down her bare arm. He clinked his wine glass with Hermione's, holding her gaze. He moistened his lips. "I love you."

"I love you more," Hermione breathed, unable to look away from the weight of his grey gaze as she sipped her drink. Goosebumps erupted on her arm where his hand lingered and Hermione swallowed, looking away.

Her gaze fell on Narcissa, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, sitting with Andromeda and Teddy Tonks. Hermione watched as Andromeda and Teddy stood when the crowd began to mingle and Narcissa remained seated, dressed in fine robes, her blonde hair tied into an elegant twist.

"Come on," Hermione said quietly, gesturing in the direction of Draco's mother. Following her gaze, Draco nodded and stood, offering his hand to Hermione.

"Draco, Hermione," Narcissa murmured as they slid into Andromeda and Teddy's vacated seats. "How wonderful to see you both. Hermione, darling, you were fabulous. And you look stunning, of course."

"Thank you, Narcissa," Hermione said, offering the woman a smile. "It is nice to see you again."

Hermione's eyes flickered to Draco who looked on questioningly. She took a deep breath and fidgeted with a sheet of parchment she had stowed in a hidden compartment in the dress. Hermione deliberately ignored the many pairs of eyes she could feel assessing her, as she sat with the two Malfoys.

"I meant to thank you for sending Draco that old book on magical heirlooms," Hermione murmured. Draco's eyes flew to meet hers and he smirked in comprehension, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

"Of course," Narcissa said, lips pursing as she looked between the two of them, waiting for elaboration.

"We wanted to test this necklace, you see," Hermione said, showing Narcissa the small, intricate star pendant on her necklace.

Narcissa stared unblinkingly, her brow furrowing, looking between them.

"It's lovely," Narcissa stated. "Where did you receive it?"

"From my mother, Jean Granger," Hermione said evenly. Silently, she handed the sheet of parchment to Narcissa, who obligingly unfolded it and began to read the long, magically populated list.

Draco pressed a kiss to Hermione's cheek when Narcissa's breath caught sharply: presumably she had reached the magical generations.

"Black, Selwyn, Burke," Narcissa read quietly to herself, then stopped short, the blood draining from her face. Her blue eyes flew to meet Hermione's, then anxiously flickered to Draco's. "Ravenclaw? This can't be true?"

"It is," Draco assured her. "Mother, a lot has happened this year. Helena Ravenclaw, the ghost of Ravenclaw, has confirmed it's the same necklace. Which makes Hermione very distantly descended from the house of Ravenclaw."

"But yet…" Narcissa said, shaking her head. "Yet you are Muggle-born." She ran a finger down the long list of names, stopping between Edith Black and her daughter Eva Cromwell.

"Eva Cromwell was a Squib," Draco confirmed.

"But how on Earth did you learn of any of this?" Narcissa asked, bewildered. "Why think to test the necklace at all?"

Hermione met Draco's eyes; he shrugged and smirked. Then she turned back to Narcissa and smiled at the woman.

"You see, Narcissa," Hermione began, "on the fifteenth of January, Draco and I were doing our Prefect rounds together when we heard a strange sound…"

* * *

When Hermione and Draco completed an abridged telling of the story some time later, Narcissa stared blankly between the two of them. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it once more, pursing her lips.

Hermione glanced to Draco; he slanted a crooked smile her way.

"I believe you," Narcissa said, adjusting her hair, "if for no reason other than  _that_  story is too strange to have been invented." The woman hesitated, staring at Draco. "And so Ravenclaw is gone for good?"

"Yes," Draco nodded.

"And the ghosts? They are still here?"

"Only until the end of the year," Draco responded, "and then they plan to carry on into the next life."

"It's all tremendously fascinating," Narcissa clipped. "But Hermione, dear, what do you intend to do about your newly discovered heritage?"

Hermione glanced to Draco, worrying her lower lip, then turned back to the Malfoy matriarch. "I was hoping you might be able to help me with that."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her wine.

"The more I think about it, the more I believe the true history of Ravenclaw – both Rowena and Helena – needs to be known. The history books, for one thing, will need to be amended." Beside her, Draco snickered. "And secondly, I was thinking it might be a chance to make things right with regards to the true story between Helena and Waldo. The houses of Baron and Ravenclaw didn't end after all, but more importantly, Waldo has been vilified for a millennium. The least I can do is set the record straight."

"Very well," Narcissa said, inclining her head. "And how can I help?"

"I have been considering that maybe we could arrange an interview," Hermione said, glancing to Draco. "It was my hope that you would know someone. Just…  _not_  Rita Skeeter."

"Absolutely," Narcissa said, her lips spreading into a demure smile. "I shall send an owl tomorrow."

* * *

After Narcissa departed with Andromeda and Teddy, promising to report back soon, Hermione looked up and did a double-take when she spotted her friends.

Harry, Ron and Ginny were sitting at a large, round table with Nott, Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, who was in attendance for the event, despite having opted not to complete her eighth year at Hogwarts. Hermione vaguely remembered that Daphne was dating Nott, and she flushed upon recalling that Draco had a history with the pretty blonde.

Hermione shared a wide-eyed glance with Draco as they joined the large group of their collective friends.

"Someone's spiked the punch," Ginny said by way of greeting, her arms folded across her chest as she and Daphne looked on at the four boys with a combination of consternation and amusement, sipping their own glasses gingerly.

It was only then that Hermione noticed Harry, Ron, Nott and Zabini seemed to be looser than she had last seen them, gesturing wildly with cups of punch as they seemed to be loudly discussing a quidditch match that had happened the week before.

She slipped into an empty seat beside Harry and Draco followed suit between Hermione and Zabini.

"Long chat with the Lady Malfoy," Zabini said teasingly, turning from the debate and taking a long swig from his cup. "Planning the wedding?"

Draco scoffed even as he avoided Hermione's gaze, and she felt her cheeks flush pink.

"We were telling her about what happened with Ravenclaw," Draco explained, "not that it's your business. Hermione wants to arrange an interview for the history books."

"But of course," Hermione said, smiling, "you don't believe any of it happened anyway, do you, Zabini?"

"I do," Zabini said begrudgingly, "ever since Theo started going on about how he got to meet Rowena Ravenclaw before she dissolved into nothing." Zabini rolled his eyes. "Which, by the way, Draco, I'm never going to forgive you for not inviting me as well."

"You weren't around," Nott cut in from Zabini's other side, smugly. Hermione got the impression this had been a topic of animosity between the two Slytherins for a while. "It isn't  _my_  fault I was there at the time and you weren't."

"He's got a point, Blaise," Draco snickered.

Zabini huffed and leaned back in his seat, moodily sipping from his cup of punch. Draco grinned and met Hermione's eye.

"Would you like some spiked punch?" he asked. Hermione chewed her lip, debating the pros and cons of the idea.

"A small glass, please," she decided, feeling the stress of preparing for the event slip away as she finally relaxed with her friends. Draco stood and walked to the punch bowl, returning with two glasses.

Hermione could taste the firewhisky as she sipped cautiously from her cup, and sank into her seat, Draco's arm around her as he joined in on the quidditch debate, discussing the merits of one chaser formation compared to another with Ginny. Harry, Ron and Zabini seemed to be discussing keeper strategies; Nott and Daphne had vanished.

Hermione found herself considerably relieved that no one expected her to join in the conversation and she merely observed, thrilled to see her friends getting along with Draco and his Slytherin friends.

Neville and Luna joined the table some time later, holding hands, Neville red in the cheeks. Hermione met his sparkling eyes and grinned.

And when she and Draco made their way to Gryffindor Tower at the end of the night, a few glasses of punch in, they fell into bed exhausted.

And as Hermione fought the heavy tug at her eyelids, warm in Draco's embrace, the last thought that crossed her mind was that no matter what happened in the past, the future looked pretty bright.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The end has arrived, friends, and it's very bittersweet. This story has been so much fun, and you have all made it so worthwhile, with your kind words and your kudos - your support has made this story more than I ever thought it would be. I'm truly sad to see it come to an end. Thank you to everyone who has followed this story from the early stages when I just wanted to write a time travel fic that I didn't think anyone would read, and those who are still yet to read it :)
> 
> A huge thanks to La Belladone x and Kyonomiko for being rockstar fandom friends, always willing to talk through ideas or look over my writing, and for being so lovely and encouraging when I've struggled. Love you both!
> 
> I'm not certain what'll be coming next, but I always have lots of one-shots and fest pieces on the go, and I have a handful of WIPs that will compete for the spot of my next story. So if you're interested in reading more, be sure to follow me :)
> 
> Thanks for reading xo
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Hermione set down her quill, feeling a slow smile spread across her face. She met Draco's eyes across the quiet hall; he was already finished, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. He offered her a slow, sultry smirk in return.

Hermione averted her gaze briefly, feeling an indecent flush creep to her cheeks, even as a rush of pure, unadulterated relief swept through her. She could scarcely believe that after so many years, after the countless hours of lessons and schoolwork and exams – this was it. She was finished her magical education at Hogwarts.

They would remain for two days, before the Hogwarts Express would take them back to London for the final time.

Draco's eyes sparkled as he bit down on his lower lip, gazing at her; Hermione felt a delicious clench build in her core.

Hermione shifted in her seat as she gathered her papers and supplies, her hands trembling as she felt Draco's gaze linger.

The scratching of quills brought her back to the present as he lazily collected his things as well and met her at the front of the room to hand in their last exams, Transfiguration.

But Draco offered her a genuine smile as he slipped his hand in hers, walking her from the quiet hall.

"Congratulations," he murmured, meeting her gaze once they were in the corridor. "How does it feel, knowing you've completed your NEWTs?"

"I feel oddly light," Hermione mused. "It really does feel great. And I've decided, I'm not going to stress out about the results, because whatever happens, I've done my best."

"Right," Draco agreed. "Good luck with that. Even though you and I both know you've earned all Outstandings, I suspect I'll be hearing about it often."

" _Don't_!" Hermione hissed, as if his words could prevent it from being so.

"Now you know how I felt when you said I was going to get an O on my Potions NEWT," Draco teased. "Now, no more talk of NEWTs.  _Ever_. There's no way the Ministry is going to deny you, even if you happen to miss one."

"You're probably right," Hermione said, offering him a half-hearted smile. The more she thought of the Ministry – and the position she was hoping for in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures – the more she thought of the fact that Draco would be pursuing his Potions mastery abroad.

And Hermione would be in London, where she would presumably move into the house where she had grown up with her parents – parents who lived in Australia and didn't remember her.

Most likely pushing papers in a cubicle as a low-level Ministry drone for a number of years before she reached a position where she could have any significant influence.

"Any update on the mastery decision?" Hermione asked, doing her best to be supportive. She really  _was_  happy for him. It was just going to be a long two years apart.

"I've narrowed it down to two," Draco murmured absently, glancing to her as his hand tightened around hers. "I've owled the masters in Madrid and Budapest some supplementary questions and will decide once I've heard back. Either program wouldn't start until September so there's time."

"Of course," Hermione said, nodding. "And I'm arranging for the fireplace in my parents' house to be connected to the Floo network once we return to England. So… whichever you choose."

"Right," Draco said, and his smile faltered. "Good."

Draco stopped and ran a hand up Hermione's arm. She turned to him, chewing her lip.

"We'll make it work," he murmured quietly, his tone and expression earnest. "No matter what happens, I can't imagine my life without you."

"Neither can I, Draco," Hermione said honestly. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish you had been offered a mastery closer to home."

"I know," he said shortly, glancing at the floor. "I wish that had been the case as well." He met her eyes again, smirking. "But in the scheme of the rest of our lives together, what's two years?"

"I suppose you're right," Hermione replied, though his comment did little to alleviate the sadness in his eyes, the sadness that she felt as well, deep within her. "You're right – we'll just make it work."

"Hermione," Draco said, running a hand through his hair. "I know we've beat the subject to death, but I just wanted you to know that… if you don't want me to go..." he trailed off, making a face.

"Of course, Draco," Hermione said quietly. "Of course I want you to go. This is your dream, and it's a great opportunity. I want you to do this for yourself, for your own future."

"You're my future," Draco breathed. "And if being apart for two years is going to jeopardize that –"

"It won't," Hermione cut in sharply, forcing a smile, even as her heart thundered and swelled at his words. "Now, come on. We've got to find Helena and Waldo."

"Right," Draco grimaced. "Hard to believe they're actually going. After everything that's happened this year, I guess I've just grown used to them being around.  _Even if_  the goal was to set them free."

"And we have helped them," Hermione said with a sad smile. "It's their time to go. But I'll miss them something terrible."

"Theo insisted on coming to see them off," Draco mused as they continued walking. "Then Blaise got annoyed, saying he missed seeing Ravenclaw, and that he wasn't going to miss saying goodbye to the ghosts."

"Does Blaise know the ghosts?" Hermione asked, turning to Draco with surprise.

"Not at all," Draco said easily. "But he felt so left out last time that he's insisting. I think it's the principle of the matter."

"Fine," Hermione said, amused. Draco's two best mates made her laugh far more than she ever would have expected from the pair of Slytherins. "We'll wait until they're finished, and then we'll find Waldo and Helena."

They didn't have to wait long, as both Theo and Blaise left the Great Hall shortly, jostling each other as they walked.

"Can you believe we're done?" Theo asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It feels anti-climactic, somehow."

"No, it feels incredible," Blaise retorted, raising a dark brow.

"I know what you mean," Hermione said, glancing at Theo. "Like there was so much build-up, for so many years. And now we're just… done."

Theo offered her a smile. "Where are the ghosts?"

"We have to find them," Draco said. "Waldo asked if I could activate the portal, so they could go from there. For Helena, I think, as a connection with her mother. But no luck. I guess when Rowena's spirit was untethered from the magic of the altar, it rendered the portal obsolete. We can't even get the passageway to reveal itself anymore."

"For the best, I suppose," Hermione said, clutching her books to her chest. "So no one accidentally stumbles upon it, or anything. And sort of fitting, that with Ravenclaw's end, so too ended the portal."

"Right," Blaise murmured, looking disgruntled at the thought. "So where is this momentous farewell to occur then?"

As it turned out, Waldo and Helena were lingering in an old, dingy classroom in the dungeons.

Helena's eyes were already shining as the four students walked into the room, but she smiled as they entered.

"Hermione, Draco," Helena murmured. "My dear friends. And – Theo, isn't it? And –" Helena looked distraught.

"Blaise," the Slytherin said, offering his hand with a grin and Helena reached out to shake it, her hand passing through his.

"Blaise," Helena repeated, smiling again. "It is always nice to meet friends of Hermione and Draco."

Waldo drifted forward, gruffly clapping each of the males on the shoulder, swiping through them. Then he turned to Hermione, and floated his hand gently above her shoulder as well for a moment, before returning to his place beside Helena.

"Thank you for coming to see us off," Helena said demurely, her gaze lingering on Hermione.

"We will miss you dearly," Hermione said, her brows knitting together and Helena nodded quickly. "But we are so happy to see you find the peace, which we have longed for you to reach."

"And we have," Waldo said, nodding. He was frowning, as if to keep from becoming too emotional. "You have been wonderful friends to us, not only in life but in death, and we can never thank you enough."

Helena sniffled beside him and Hermione reached for the ghost's translucent hand.

"Waldo," Draco broke in, looking around them. "Why this room? I thought you wanted to depart from somewhere significant."

"Ah," Waldo murmured, glancing to Helena, whose lips curved into a smile. "This room is significant to us. You see, Helena and I liked to  _spend time_  here when we were students. It's where – well, Audrey –"

"Got it," Draco said, holding up a hand. Hermione suspected if Waldo could blush, he would have.

"So what will happen with the ghosts now?" Theo asked, looking thoughtful. "If both Slytherin and Ravenclaw lose their ghosts, will you be replaced?"

"The ghost council has discussed it at length," Helena said, her expression quite serious. The four students exchanged a bemused glance. "It is not a common occurrence for us to pass over; typically our numbers grow rather than shrink. But each house  _must_  have a ghost. Interim ghosts have been selected until such a time as the ghost council can arrange a vote. Ghosts vying for the positions will be given an opportunity to present their case prior to the vote. Being a house ghost is a prestigious position, you see, and we have so little excitement in our existences."

If Helena hadn't explained the droll situation with such matter-of-fact sincerity, Hermione might have burst out laughing. Even so, Blaise's lips twitched.

"What about Peeves? Waldo was always the only one who could control him," Hermione mused. "I suppose he will see Hogwarts as his own personal playground now. Rather, more so than usual."

"Peeves is harmless," Waldo said, lifting a dismissive hand. "Though now that I am leaving, I will share with you the reason Peeves has always feared me and you may share the information as required." He grinned, pausing for effect. "I spent many years learning Peeves' weakness, and here it is: the colour pink."

" _Pink_?" Draco asked, bewildered. "What do you mean, the colour pink?"

"I mean exactly that," Waldo said plainly. "You need simply threaten to turn his outfit pink, or put something pink in his path – and he will do exactly as you say."

"I find it hard to believe it's that simple," Hermione said, frowning, "although I suppose he really did  _hate_  Umbridge."

Beside her Draco snorted in amusement.

"So how did you convince him you could do that without a wand?" Draco asked, one eyebrow raised.

"It was not difficult," Waldo said with a shrug. "I told him I had wandless magic that carried over in death and he has been too blinded by his terror to test me for so many years."

"That's brilliant," Blaise said, chuckling.

"Hermione," Helena said, drifting over. Hermione turned to her friend, chewing her lip. "Thank you for being my friend. I am honoured to know it is you that will carry our line forward. I won't forget you."

"And neither will I forget you," Hermione replied, feeling her vision grow blurry. She glanced to Waldo. "Neither of you. I am so grateful for the experiences we've had this year, getting to know you both."

Draco nodded beside her, clapping a hand through Waldo's shoulder. Waldo blinked, frowning.

"It grows more difficult for us to linger," Waldo announced suddenly. "Though we would like to stay, we must now travel on to our next adventure."

"Okay," Hermione nodded, swiping at her eyes as Helena's embrace went through her, chilling her skin as she attempted to wrap her hands around the ghost. She breathed into the side of Helena's translucent head, "I'll miss you."

"Forever," Helena breathed in return as she drew back. Waldo was quietly talking with the three Slytherins as Hermione stepped back alongside Draco.

"Don't forget us," Waldo said with a wry grin.

"We never will," Draco said with a half-hearted smirk. "May you end up where you need to be, and together."

"We choose to have faith," Helena said with a sad smile as she melted into Waldo's embrace.

Hermione felt Draco's hand slip into hers, his fingers entwining with hers easily.

"Goodbye," Hermione whispered, the tears welling in her eyes threatening to spill over. Draco tugged her closer still and she leaned into his warm strength.

Blaise and Theo stood side by side, their expressions stoic as they murmured their goodbyes to the ghosts as well.

Waldo pressed a kiss to Helena's temple, pale tears flowing down her face, and the two waved as they slowly faded away, their smiling faces growing faint until nothing remained.

Hermione choked on a sob as she buried her face in Draco's chest; his expression was lost and mournful as he ran a hand over her curls. A heavy, despairing silence hung over the room as the four students said their last private goodbyes.

Hermione and Draco both looked up at a sudden intake of breath from Theo.

"Look at that," he breathed, his eyes fixed on a nearby table.

There, materializing from thin air, was an elegant gilded frame, inlaid with carved flowers. Mounted within the frame was a large tree, its boughs reaching for the bright sky and glistening with silver. Two figures lingered in the distance, hand in hand, walking away.

One of the figures, the female, turned and waved and Hermione's heart skipped with recognition. She picked up the frame, staring closely at the pair as they vanished further into the distance.

"Draco," Hermione murmured, tracing her fingers along the magical painting of the tree. "This tree."

"I know," he replied, gently touching the frame of the portrait. "It looks like Helena and Waldo gave you a parting gift."

"Do you suppose they'll be here? Sometimes?" she asked quietly and they all exchanged a long glance.

"Probably," Theo said, breaking the silence. "It won't be  _them_ , of course, not how you'll remember them. But a shadow version of them. They're your ancestors, no matter how far back, so it only makes sense that you'll have their portrait."

Hermione sniffled and nodded, clutching the portrait close to her chest. Draco ran a hand along her spine and she turned to him with a watery smile. "Then I'll always cherish it."

The students stood in silence once more, looking around the dusty, unused room.

"Now what?" Blaise asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Hogsmeade is open," Theo suggested. "A Butterbeer in their honour?"

Hermione nodded gently. "That sounds perfect."

* * *

Hermione looked up from her book as Draco approached her spot in the courtyard. He smiled, taking a seat beside her beneath her new favourite tree.

"I should have known you'd be here," he murmured, leaning back against the thick trunk and resting his eyes.

"Yes, you should've," Hermione agreed teasingly, her eyes flickered up to the wide branches, the green leaves sparkling with a glow of bright silver. "It makes me feel closer to her, I suppose."

"I noticed you didn't explain your theory on why this tree suddenly grew in the courtyard in your article," Draco mused.

"No," Hermione said, smiling. "I didn't think that was for everyone to know."

Indeed, the tree had sprung up to its full height the day after Rowena had departed from Hogwarts, her magical core dispersing into the air and beyond, near where the passageway into the portal had appeared.

"I think you're right," Draco said, absently picking at the grass beneath him. "It was important for the wizarding world to know the truth, about Rowena, and about Helena and Waldo. But most of it – no one would understand."

"Certainly not," Hermione said, sliding her hand into his. "Though if the reactions to the truth about my heritage at Hogwarts alone have been anything to go by, I'll not want to visit Diagon Alley anytime soon."

"You're tough," Draco teased. "And to be fair, you had to expect  _all_  the questions."

"I did," Hermione smiled. "It doesn't mean I want to answer the same ones a million times."

Draco grinned and swooped in, catching her with a kiss, pressing her back against the trunk of the tree. Surprised, Hermione instinctively kissed him back, drawing him closer. Draco swung a leg over hers, straddling her as he deepened the kiss, his tongue meeting hers with fervour.

"You're in a good mood," Hermione breathed, looking around the courtyard as he abruptly pulled back again.

"I've received an owl," he said, a beguiling smile drifting to his lips, "and I wanted to talk to you about it."

"Of course," Hermione said, absently fidgeting with his shirt collar. "Who from?"

"It's from Señor Herrero, the Potions Master in Madrid," Draco explained, pausing. "Now, I know you're keen on the Ministry, but hear me out. When I explained my hesitancy to pursue a mastery abroad, he suggested an idea."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she stared at Draco; he looked oddly nervous, even as his grey eyes sparkled.

"I know it isn't strictly policy, and it isn't what you'd be doing in London, but Señor Herrero mentioned the griffin sanctuary outside of Avila is looking for some sort of sanctuary protection coordinator. It would be more hands on, and you'd presumably be able to make a lot of contacts in the world of creature regulation and protection." Draco hesitated, running a hand through his hair as Hermione gaped at him.

"The griffin sanctuary?" Hermione breathed. "I've always wanted to visit there. It's the last place where griffins are protected and able to live freely." She stared at Draco, her brows knitting together. "You looked into this for me?"

"I just thought…" he trailed off, pursing his lips. "If you maybe had an option in Spain… but I know you've already arranged interviews at the Ministry in England, so I don't want you to think I'm pushing."

"No, I don't think you're pushing," Hermione said distractedly, shaking her head as she thought through the idea.

"And," Draco murmured, eyes wide."Avila is within Apparating distance of Madrid. So we could  _maybe_  get a flat or something. Together."

"A flat," Hermione murmured, meeting his eyes. The thought of going with Draco, to Spain, was both terrifying and exhilarating. "Together." She smiled, gazing at him. "You want to go to Spain because of what I said about your pale skin, don't you?"

"It's a factor," Draco said stiffly. "But I've gotten on best with Herrero, and I think it's the best fit for my mastery. Absolutely no pressure, but I've begun arrangements to go to Madrid and meet him once we leave Hogwarts. If you  _want_ , come as well and we can visit the sanctuary?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "I'd love to. Draco, I've always wanted to work with the Ministry, but I know the limitations I'll face, and the years it'll take to reach a position of influence." She felt a smile grow across her face. "Working somewhere like the sanctuary will actually give me a purpose in working with creatures and their rights."

She met his eyes, and he gave her a genuine smile. She tilted her head. "And I rather think I might like to live in Spain with you."

"I love you so much," Draco breathed, his eyes shining with happiness.

"Not more than I love you," Hermione whispered. "Draco, I trust you. I think I would follow you anywhere."

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," he murmured, smiling wryly. "But I'm so thankful for it."

"I think you don't even realize the person you've become," Hermione said, holding his gaze, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You're my everything, Draco."

"And you're mine," he said, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. He leaned back. "Have you packed your things? The train is due to leave Hogsmeade station soon."

"Of course," Hermione breathed, patting a pocket where her shrunken possessions were stowed. The smile slipped from her face as she looked around the courtyard once more. "I can hardly believe this is the end."

"Faith, my dearest Hermione, remember?" Draco murmured, nudging her shoulder. "This is only the end of this piece of the story." He leaned back against the tree, turning his head to face her, his eyes roving the planes of her face. "The rest of our adventure together? It's about to begin."

_fin_


End file.
